


CORFU, 1939

by ellymelly



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: Angst, Corfu, Durrell children + additions, Eventual Smut, F/M, Farewells, Fluff, Hugh - Freeform, Jealousy, Spiros is hot, Sven - Freeform, War, okay definitely smut, post-season 3, theo - Freeform, wait...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 90,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellymelly/pseuds/ellymelly
Summary: The Durrell's time in Corfu is coming to an end. Louisa and Spiros have to find a way to say goodbye.





	1. Chapter 1

Ruins rambled down the scrappy hill. Locked in a permanent state of collapse, they tore themselves free of the dirt and tumbled helplessly toward the cliff. Concave, the layered walls of clay and sand towered over the Ionian Sea forming a shield against the world. Their faces glittered, white in the sunlight and silver in the evening while the water casually tasted Cofu’s edges. From her perch on an upturned block, Louisa Durrell could see its perfect blue flicker between the bower of wild olives. Some were hundreds of years old with tortured roots curling through the remains of an old Greek temple. Their claws tore apart the rock in ancient revenge. Indeed there was a certain symmetry to the oldest trees suggesting an abandoned orchard corrupted by youthful shoots clambering for life in the dust and heat. The olives had long since fallen, scattering over the ground where they shrivelled into sullen tear drops.

A flurry of wings drew her attention to a seagull. The mischievous creature dipped its head and wiped its beak on the remains of a column. Lichen and vines smothered what they could but twelve hundred years of savagery refused to be conquered.

Was this home? It was a complicated question and one she would have to find an answer for swiftly. Ignoring the war creeping across the world had done nothing to still its progress. At first only whispers made it as far as Corfu’s lazy streets. Then Germany marched on Poland and nobody could dismiss nearby Italy declaring war on Britain. Her family had found itself on a precipice, potentially behind enemy lines with no money. This was something many of her children’s bewildering array of guests wasted no time pointing out as they routinely opened the topic of conversation before they were plied with kumquat liqueur. Without exception, they urged her to return to England with them, to which she politely refused. Concerns from her compatriots she could ignore but last night Spiros had pulled her aside with his eyes robbed of their usual levity.

“ _Mrs Durrells...”_ He’d whispered, while her dilapidated house roared behind – alive with people and fun. Normally he released her once they were alone but this time Spiros only moved closer. _“Tomorrow I drive your guests to the ferry. Go with them. Return to England. This thing you must do.”_ Then he had left her in the darkness with a chill on her skin.

This morning, when Spiros came for her guests his face fell to see her lounging on the patio, book in hand and tea at her side. He approached and stood beside her for a long time, neither of them saying anything.  His concern followed her around all day and so she’d taken it upon herself to escape, clambering into the hills.

C hildish and  _foolish_ , she scorned herself. If the ruins beside her could speak they’d say the same. In truth, Louisa was no fool nor did she have a choice. That was one thing her eldest was yet to grasp – free will was all well and good as an abstract romance but reality hit like a xiphos.

Still she lingered…

It was as though her nails dug into Corfu’s earth.

*~*~*

Where Spiros was concerned, everything was inevitable. If you found yourself wandering along the road alone he’d pull up beside and open his door. If the generator gave a dying gasp he materialised on the porch holding a spanner. He was the bringer of friends, ferrying them in and out of their brief Grecian dream. Therefore it came as no surprise to Louisa when he appeared bumbling under the olive limbs, batting insects away from his face.

“Oh _Spiros_...” Louisa craned her head in sympathy. Without his motor car he was half a person. He must have left it  parked at the bottom of the hill and climbed the rest of the way. “Look at the state of you.”

“Mrs Durrells,” he managed, between heavy breaths. His cap was skewed and several heavy beads of sweat trickled in front of his ear. His jacket was nowhere to be seen – not that she blamed him – it was so hot the rocks in full sun burned at the touch.

“Please – sit down.” She stood and gestured to the ground beside her.

There was more he wanted to say but for the moment he submitted to her sensible request and collapsed onto the ground. “What is it with your family?” He asked, almost idly. “Always in wilderness. You are like – ah –  _nomads_ .”

“Yes – well,” she replied, sitting herself gently down beside him, “we’ve always been somewhat nomadic. I was born in India. It was only my husband’s influence that kept me tied to one mooring for so long.” Louisa trailed off, regretting the mention of her husband. Things had never been resolved between them since he’d announced the return of his wife. That was five weeks ago. “And my children,” she amended. “My English friends believe me to be terribly irresponsible for dragging them into the wilderness but Corfu isn’t wild. It’s _old_. This island was tamed before the first footstep touched my shore.”

“And what do these old stories tell us?” Spiros asked, plucking a stone from the ruin. He brushed the dirt off its surface. The faintest impression of a letter was all that time left on its surface. “Endless fighting. It is, as you English say, _Greek tragedy_.”

That wasn’t  _quite_ what the phrase meant but Louisa took his point. The study of history was depressing in detail and beautiful at a distance. “Yes.”

Louisa let the word linger for a long time between them before she finally clarified.

“There is no need to persuade me further, Spiros, if that is what you have come here to do. _Yes_ , you were right, I must return to England with the children.”

She nearly asked if he might come with them. How ridiculous. Of  _course_ he could not and it was cruel to pose the question. Like her, he would never be able to leave his children and she was appalled at herself for even fleetingly entertaining the thought.

“Good.” He nodded firmly. “That means I do not have to call on Theo for my other plan.”

“What… Other… Plan...”

Spiros merely grinned with that warm sparkle in his eye that she loved so much.  He rocked forward, as if to stand but this time it was Louisa that laid her hand gently on his arm. He stilled at once, glancing down questioningly at her pale  fingers tangled on his white shirt.

“I am not leaving for England _right now_.”

He relaxed back to his seat but she left her hand on his arm.  It was shortly after two in the afternoo n but the sun was not finished baking the island . A haze of insects lifted off the grove and returned to  their frenzy which in turn coaxed a pair of sparrows from the shadows.  They hopped through the sporadic grass, chirping occasionally. Spiros, infinitely more comfortable in the seat of his motor car or the chair outside the  café , frowned.

“Why is it that you come here, Mrs Durrells?”

“For the same reason you frequent that old log at the edge of the cliff, I imagine. Serenity. Rumination. Space.”

Spiros stumbled at the last word  as sometimes happened when the translation did not quite flow between their two languages.

“Space of the mind,” she clarified. “Many people find that they need to be alone to think important decisions through. This one…” Louisa’s gaze drifted back to the sea. There were no answers there but it calmed her. “Let me say it is not one that I came to lightly, all things considered.” ‘All things’ had become her collective for the impossible feelings she harboured for Spiros. Neither of them were stupid and both had far too much misplaced honour to pursue their hearts.

Something else settled across Spiros’ face that was harder to place. “You wish to be alone,” he  said quietly, understanding. “And I have disturbed your peace. Please, forgive me.” This time he returned to his feet, slipping free of her hand before she could stop him.  He had already ducked under the first branch by the time Louisa caught up.

“We _really_ need to talk about what happened-” He whirled around suddenly, cutting her off. The rest of her sentence died on her lips. They _would not_ be talking about what transpired after the circus. Not now. Not _ever_. Whatever veneer Spiros had erected around himself after his wife returned it was  painfully clear that one nudge from her could send it toppling into the sea. That wouldn’t be fair to him. It would be monstrous. Louisa shook her head in apology. “No, you’re right – as usual.” She added with a small smile. That was meant honestly. He had an excellent sense of judgement. “Will you drive me back to the house? The bright side of poverty is that there isn’t much to pack. Except for all the animals, of course – by which I mean my children.” She added, to dispel the horrified look on his face.

S piros smiled warmly and offered her his arm. She took it, sinking into his natural warmth as they traversed the hill together.

* ~*~*

“What will you do?” Louisa asked, as Spiros drove slower than usual around the meandering road. It had not escaped her notice that their car journeys together were taking longer.

He answered her question with another question. “What can anyone do in situations like these? If fighting comes then I must fight.”

“I have no doubt that you would, Spiros.” Even though the thought of him standing with a rifle across his shoulder saddened her more than she could say. Good people rarely triumphed in violence. “You could take your family to America.”

“This is our home,” he replied softly. “One day, I will die under the vines that curse my front door. The leaves will fall on my smiling face and there, Mrs Durrells, you’ll find me happy for I may dream of whatever I wish.”

T he image both charmed and broke her. She concealed a creeping tear by pointing out passing friend along the road and quickly brushing her cheek.

“Also, I have _many_ family,” he added, his enthusiasm for life returning. His voice boomed, accustomed to rising over the growl of his engine. “ Siblings, cousins and an endless parade of children.”

A head, the road opened and her house appeared. Such a mangy, decrepit assembly of shoddy masonry.  There was not a square inch of it untouched by decay and yet there was a certain charm to the cracked windows, pealing paint and missing shutters. The menagerie that surrounded it she could not speak to and had long  ago lost track of its sprawl.

Spiros’ car pulled up out front with  a cloud of dust. Louisa waited as the Greek le apt  from his seat, circumnavigated his engine, dipped his head and opened her door. It was entirely unnecessary but he enjoyed it far too much for her to protest the indulgence.

“Before you leave Corfu, you should have big party,” he declared, rather joyously. “Depart in joy, my grandmother used to say. It is wise, I think. Why do you laugh at this?”

“Because you manage to find the good in all things – that is quite a gift. It is one of your many endearing qualities. And of course, you are right. My children would never forgive me if we did not drink the cellar dry. I – I will have to tell them...” The realisation froze her to the ground. Spiros stopped too, casting a concerned eye over her. “It’s Gerry I’m worried about,” she admitted. “He won’t leave his animals for a weekend in Athens. I cannot imagine him agreeing to cast them all out into the wilderness.”

“Perhaps we can call on Theo to help in this regard?”

She nodded. “Ah yes. Sensible. Would you please ask him what we may do next time you are in town?”

“Certainly, Mrs Durrells. Anything, you know, I would do for you and your family.”

L ouisa noticed that he always put a pause between, ‘you’ and ‘your family’ and as the days dragged on, so too did that pause. “When it comes time to leave, you may have to bundle me into one of Gerry’s cages or I shan’t have the  courage to go.”

They had reached the side door which led into the kitchen. Several of her children were inside driving Lu garetzia mad. Dozens of pages lay on the ground, rolling over in the wind  like fish left out in the sun.

“Larry’s latest novel, I assume...” She said, stooping to salvage them. Spiros instinctively helped and together they picked the pages from thickets, stone walls and animal cages. “He always changes his mind,” Louisa went on to explain, as they approached the last batch. “After a brief fit of rage he sulks back to his words with muttered apologies. Writers – they are terribly light on temperament. Here I am saddled with not one but _two_.”

Spiros handed her his pile of collected pages. “Your son told me the other day that he writes of us – of Corfu.” He raised his hands to the thrum of life surrounding them. “These happy times will survive in his words. In a thousand years we shall be like Homer’s heroes.”

“Don’t let Larry hear you say that – it’ll go straight to his already over-inflated head.”

They ran out of excuses to hover around each other. Spiros made his farewells and Louisa’s waved until his car vanished.

*~*~*

Her children  _hated_ her. Every morning began with a chorus of slamming doors and incoherent shouting. To Louisa’s surprise it was Margo that gave her the most grief. She was married to easy island life and the revolving door of foreign suitors. The idea of returning to England h eld all the appeal of a prison sentence.  Larry smoked so heavily that walking into his room was like wading through a Winter fog while Leslie divided his time between shooting and drinking.

“I suppose you hate me as well,” Louisa ventured, approaching her youngest. Gerry was knelt beside his favourite pelican, running his hand affectionately down its beak.

“Actually,” Gerry admitted, “Theo warned me months ago that we would be leaving. He has been teaching me about politics. When I asked him why a naturalist was interested in these things he said that to protect animals we must first understand humans. War kills them too, you see.” His pelican squawked at that. “I have to let them go, whether we stay or not. They are safer out there.”

L ouisa wrapped her arm around the bony bag of scrap she called a son. “You are very wise.”

“Sven is taking the farm animals.”

She looked over to see the goat’s rope laying on the grass and the goat – missing.

“Shouldn’t he be coming too?” Gerry asked.

“Very probably,” Louisa replied. “But he has planted roots.” She did not go so far as to admit, had she no children to consider, she’d have stayed on Corfu to sit beside Spiros.

“Oh and mother!” Gerry shouted, as Louisa headed toward the road. “Careful. I let all the insects go and I think some of them wandered into the house.”

* ~*~*

T he village was an unruly combination of conquest.  Ancient Grecian walls butted against Venetian-styled buildings who in turn shared a street with the ghostly facades of eleventh century craftsmanship.  The bustle around them was practically peasantry. Disordered market s sprung up in shaded corners while tables and chairs were scattered, seemingly at random, through the centre square. Several cypress provided welcome flourishes of green. Children had decorated their lower limbs with shells and beads suspended on strings. The haphazardry was something she’d miss terribly.

She crossed directly to the post office and spent a good hour preparing her affairs. Restrictions on travel were frankly outrageous and ferry services scant and expensive. Her son was right, the walls of the world were closing in.

It was a relief when she stepped back into the thrum of the square. Her eye was drawn to the bar. Its doors were always open and in Corfu drinking began and ended at dawn.  Louisa ventured a few paces toward the inviting scene, almost tasting the gin on her lips before she caught sight of Spiros and his wife seated against the front of the building playing cards.

There was nothing shocking about this, of course. The logical part of Louisa’s mind knew perfectly well that Spiros had returned to his wife and all that must entail. It was her heart that pushed the finer details into the dark spaces of oblivion.  Details such as how strikingly beautiful Mrs Halikiopoulos was with typically Greek hair that trailed past her narrow shoulders nearly to her waist where it flicked up in playful curls. She dressed simply in a lilac dress but paired with oversized white hat the combination came off as inherently cheerful.  They shared a newspaper, smiling over some anecdote discovered between sips of chilled beer.

Louisa’s heart fell through her chest and landed somewhere on the dust. A fierce mix of jealousy and sorrow twisted in her limbs causing her to clutch her bag against her chest until her knuckles went pale.

Mrs Halikiopoulos spotted Louisa first. There was no need for gossip to circle the island, half the town had been present for the almost-kiss at the circus. No imagination required. Her look cut straight through Louisa. It was one of undeniable hostility fostered between women since the dawn of humanity.

Spiros sensed the mood shift and looked across the square. Though he did not understand the forces at play, the rest of the world quietened to a hush whenever he caught sight of Mrs Durrell. Worry crushed his usual rush of  delight immediately and he turned his attention back to his wife.

The rejection was so public and resolute that Louisa fled the square. She kept her composure, waving and smiling at mutual friends and exchanging fleeting pleasantries until she was finally free, diverting to the scramble of abandoned pasture to the left of the road. There was a pretty creek that cut its way through the claw with bowing reeds and plenty of fish. A favourite of her youngest who had often been plucked from the  grey waters.

She fought her way through the weeds until she emerged at the water. From there, she ambled around the bank, hopping carefully over slabs of rock until she found a Judas tree in full bloom – its limbs smothered in carpets of pink flowers. Many hundreds had shed into the water, decorating the surface like fallen stars.

There – alone – the tears fell in silence. She did not bother to wipe them away as they dripped onto her collar. This was her own fault, she told herself sternly, for being reckless with her heart.  Spiros was and always had been married. Perhaps the onset of war was a kindness – forcing her away from him before either of them did something they’d live to regret.

_She already regret letting him go_ . A dark part of her suspected that if she’d fought his parting he’d have broken. That was a terrible thought too  which thickened her tears.

“Louisa?”

For the smallest fraction of a second, she thought her name spilled from his lips. “Sven?” She replied, frantically swatting the water from her face. “What are you doing here?”

“That was going to be my question,” he replied, leading Gerry’s donkey down toward the stream. As soon as his hooves touched the cool, the beast dipped his mouth in and drank hungrily. “But I think perhaps I know the answer.”

“Oh don’t. Not you too.” Louisa waved him away, even though Sven had no intention of leaving.

“If Spiros was not quite so handsome I’d be forced to hit him in the face on your behalf.”

A mixture of Sven’s accent, his deliberately poor word choice and the mischievous  gleam in his eye broke an unexpected smile on her lips. “Truly, that won’t be necessary. It was  _my fault_ .”

Sven closed in, squeezing himself onto the patch of rock beside her. He did not quite fit leaving his right leg sprawled off to the side to stop him slipping off into the water. “I would not do it.” Sven promised. “Though you should know, he and I exchanged words after – well – after  _we_ ended.” He added, referencing their almost-marriage.

“Oh no… Spiros didn’t hit _you_ did he?”

“Should I be disappointed that you sound almost hopeful?” There was nothing but playfulness in his reply. “No. Spiros was defending your honour and when he learned the truth he offered me a bottle of wine and I tortured him with a few hours of accordion.”

“Now I feel sorry for him.”

“You like my playing,” Sven insisted, “no matter what you say, I know you do. Anyway… That was when I knew for sure that he was in love with you. It took him a little longer, I think, to realise.”

“I – I saw him with his wife, just now, in town.”

“Ah...” Sven nodded. “I know that feeling. It comes to me often when I am forced to watch my partner pretend. There are moments when I wonder if what I had was ever real. The power of illusion is power indeed.”

“You take it very calmly,” she replied, still attempting to free her eyes of tears. “I – well I take it _like this_.”

“If you are waiting for advice,” he added, after they had been quiet for some time, “I have none to offer. Advice is useless in situations like this.”

“I understand.” Then, she looked to his donkey. “You did not answer me before. What brings you here?”

“I bought this farm. Technically, you are crying into my stream.”

“You don’t have any money?” She queried, unable to stop herself looking Sven up and down. He definitely had the appearance of a penniless goat herder.

“I was given this land...” He amended. “You are not the only family fleeing Corfu. The council does not wish fertile land to fall into disrepair so they have gifted properties to those that prove they can work them.”

“Then it’s settled – you _are_ staying.”

“Yes,” he affirmed. “I will stay. Come what may, as they say. Besides, I have promised Gerry that I shall watch over his herd. I take this promise very seriously.”

“You always had a way of making me smile,” Louisa admitted, leaning across to rest her head on his shoulder.

“And of course I will be at this fabulous party I hear you are planning. If you are not careful, the entire island will present itself.”

“Don’t joke about such things!” She warned him. There was something else he was not saying. “What is it?”

“I think Leslie and Larry have not spoken to you yet.”

“Spoken to me about _what_? If you hold out on me, I swear I’ll find a way to throw you into this river.”

As much as he would like to watch her try, Sven replied with the truth. “Your boys have plans to stay on the island. They have formed attachments they cannot bring themselves to break.”

“They are mad if they imagine I’ll leave them on this island to fend for themselves on the edge of war. Mad. If I have to get Theo to drug them so help me, my children are coming back to England.” Not ‘home’. That title belonged to Corfu.

*~*~*

Nearly all of Gerry’s animals had been either freed or re-homed by guilt-ed friends. Several of the birds returned in the afternoon, hopping along the low rock wall separating the courtyard from the small cliff and sea below.

Sven had been correct about Larry and Leslie’s intentions, all of which had broken down into a terrible row that saw them leave the house in a self imposed eviction that she didn’t have the strength to fight. Margo was out the door to work with Theo before dawn and Gerry spent every precious moment he could steal out in the wiles with Roger at his heel.

The bottle of cooking sherry was looking awfully enticing of late.


	2. Chapter 2

Dusk arrived and Louisa  found herself still alone in the house. Defiantly, she took the sherry from the cupboard and waltzed  down the broken stairs to the scrap of beach beneath  her ailing house.  There was one thing she knew for certain, its frail skeleton was not long for the world. It had none of the strength of its stone ancestors and even  their colossus corpses lay broken and buried on Corfu’s shores.

Fireflies scattered in the air above,  catching her attention. They kept  to the shadow of the cypresses that leaned ominously over the wall.  In places,  their enormous root structures broke through, dislodging stones. Her family lived between the gaps, coming and going without leaving so much as a scratch  on the expanse .

Except Leslie.

Even  Louisa had to admit there were a few bullet holes  embedded in the forest nearby.

Upon reaching the last step, Louisa stopped to survey the beach. She located Larry’s discarded chair and dragged it into a suitable position at the edge of the water. The gentle brush of waves was just enough to splash against the legs. Louisa reclined into its calico sling and dragged deep of her bottle.

There was no such thing as ‘silence’ on Corfu. The air seethed with scratching legs and beating wings. In the distance, rough waves rose up and broke against the cliffs in a sighing-drone. Fingerlings jumped nearby, splashing in panic. She loved _all of it_. Even the sound of revelry clambering over the hill from the village and the lights of fishing trawlers, sliding off the horizon.

* ~*~*

Spiros left his home despite repeated protests from his wife. She knew all too well where he was headed and he didn’t have the will to lie. He looked back at her, leaning against the open door with light from the house within surrounding her. There was every sensible reason in the world to stay but he had not seen Mrs Durrell in the village with her children – or sitting with Theo in his special corner – or even being tortured by the Swede with his obnoxious musical device.

It was early in the evening  and the road  was full of couples wandering toward town or out into the  lightly forested area where they could find some privacy. He had been one of those couples once, stealing embraces in the shadows.  A  _lot_ of embraces, if he was perfectly honest.  Watching Mrs Durrell’s son almost tip into the same  hedonistic life filled  Spiros with a protective  urge to keep the boy  from trouble.

Turning off the main road, Spiros’ only company were his headlamps cutting through the night. The moon hung full in the sky. Its ferocious silver light blotted out the stars that strayed too close to its halo.

What explanation could he reasonably offer for his sudden appearance at  Mrs Durrell’s house in the evening?  It was best that he had one ready before he pulled into the drive but none sounded convincing – especially the truth. ‘I noticed all your children were in town drinking together  unattended – even the youngest’ was unlikely to improve her mood  or quash her feverish worry.

P ulling up at the end of the driveway, he noticed that the house was uncharacteristically dark. Citronella lamps usually burned on the ground level, if for no other reason that to keep the insects away. No matter how explosive a Durrell family fight was earlier in the day, Mrs Durrell  _always_ left a light on for her children  so that when they eventually crept home  it was not a blind stumble.

Spiros left his slouch hat on the passenger seat of his car and edged nervously toward the house. The sound of gravel crunching beneath his feet roared particularly loud in his ear.

He found the door to the kitchen wide open.  Quickly, he ducked in side and lit the nearest lamp. In the fresh glow he  spied a pair of pelicans making themselves at home, obviously not  appreciative of their new found ‘freedom’.  He instinctively mimicked the Durrells, shooing the birds  from the kitchen.

“Mrs Durrells, are you in?” He called hopefully, to the interior of the house. It responded with silence. There was no lingering scent of dinner or glasses upturned beside the sink. He pressed further into the house carrying the lamp but it was equally deserted and oddly picked apart with the Durrell children in various states of rebellion. He longed for happier days, when the house had been a hive of resourcefulness and English determination.

When it s abandonment became clear , Spiros set the lamp in the kitchen where it belong ed and returned to the courtyard. The trees had shadows  courtesy of the moon .  One of Gerry’s owls  occupied a perch on the low hanging limb of the dying cypress next to the wall.  It hooted softly at the night.  The air, relentlessly dry during the day, had a layer of moisture to it that materialised in the faintest edge of mist curling at waist height.

Spiros always thought Corfu was at its most beautiful right here, standing at the low, misshapen wall outside the Durrell’s house. It was a nook in the island. A secret sheltered by converging ravines and sprawling forests.  He looked up at the string of bouncing fairy lights strung through the branches. They were not lit but the memory of their colourful glow brought a smile to his lips.  He’d nearly killed himself fixing that generator  but it was worth the burn marks on his jacket.

A gyre of laughter wandered up from the water beneath. Spiros placed his hands on the wall and leaned over, twisting his neck. There, consumed by the waves, was a single deck chair with Mrs Durrells laid on top, bottle in hand, gazing toward the pregnant moon.

_She is Artemis_ ,  he thought, envisioning her as a mythical figure. In many ways that is what she had always been to him – an unattainable creature to worship from a safe distance as a priest may lay flowers at a temple dish. All that had fallen away in those brief weeks and now Spiros could not un - see the other side of Mrs Durrell.  _Louisa_ . The woman whose heart lay beneath the tide’s unsteady swell  and whose name he had forb a d e himself  to speak .

T he thought of her drew him down the stone steps. Before he could muster some common sense his boots sank into the tiny pebbles and he knew it was too late.

She was dressed in her white Summer gown with  a lace frill along the hem and matching panel at its waist. Spiros remembered it well although of course he’d never admit to memorising all of her dresses. In this case, its edges dragged in the water, sagging with the weight. Every time the waves drew back, their motion tugged the material further along her lower calf, exposing her naked legs to the moonlight.

Louisa heard him approach. The crumble of rock and splash of water fighting trepidation. Lazily, her head lulled to the side. In the hours she’d lain on the chair she had not noticed the tide come in. He was wading through ankle deep water without a care for his clothes. The sight had her transfixed.  Whether it was the unusual play of light or sheer abstraction of the scene, Louisa convinced herself that she’d transpired into a dream.

_This_ Spiros could not be the man who had averted his eyes brusquely from hers  in the square.  _That_ Spiros would never steal away at night to visit her without cause.

He stopped beside her – his shadow crossing the moonlight.

The alcohol cast a haze over her vision, one that flattered Spiros’ concerned frown into stifling smoulder. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, softening the cracks put there by the sun and salt.

It was true that Spiros’ gaze swept over Mrs Durrell, drinking her in from toe to the unfolding curls of her russet hair. His foolish, youthful dalliances paled terribly when he held them against the sight.  A fact made worse by the concrete truth that more than imagined things whispered between them.

L ouisa was caught off guard by the arm that reached over her, grasped the nearly empty bottle of sherry and wrestled it from her fingertips.  Spiros held it to the light, arched his eyebrow at the dwindling waterline before  he tossed it wildly at the shore.

She heard a  _‘clink’_ as it landed  then nothing. It was as lost to her as Corfu soon would be.

“No more of that, Mrs Durrells,” he opened, firmly. “I am all for drink,” he assured her, “but never alone or  in the company of the sea.”

H is voice mellowed the air. It was some kind of sorcery how he lulled her into surrender. Disarmed, she relaxed further against the slatted chair, relishing the press of the hard boards against her spine. At the moment, she feared it was the only thing holding her to the world  and even then it gave a withering  _creak_ at her intentions.

“Words of wisdom,” she replied, her speech slightly slurred, “from the patron saint of Corfu?”

“No...” He replied patiently. “Common sense has been around longer than the beloved saints.”

The slight curve upward at the corner of his dark lips left her wondering if his religion was in tatters like hers.

“That may be all good and well,” Louisa mixed up the order of words such that even Spiros noticed. “But I am _not_ your charge.  I am a – a – a _force_ ,” she settled on. “Like – ah – _the moon_.”

His eyes lifted to the orb painted in the sky then returned to Mrs Durrell with an arresting smile. “ If  that is so and you are the goddess of the moon,” Spiros knelt down into the water beside her chair. It came half way up his thighs – perfectly cool and clear where it lapped against his skin. “ Then surely you have lost control of the tides?” Then he kinked up this playful eyebrow and Mrs Durrell realised the Ionian Sea had consumed her perch  and was well on its way toward the wall.

“Oh...” She breathed softly. Swiftly followed by a second, alarmed, _‘oh...’_ when she realised Spiros was soaked through. Her predicament should have come as a concern but whether it was the sherry or Spiros’ haphazard smile, Louisa found herself grinning stupidly.

“Typical English,” he insisted. “You laugh when you mean to cry and cry when-”

“Don’t bother – we cry at most things – but only when we are on our own.” Even though Louisa said it with a smile, she recognised how terrible the revelation sounded. It was true, though. Emotions were not the sport of public viewing. She could think of something _else_ that wasn’t for public viewing – Spiros’ eyes. They were dark and luxurious, dragging her down or pulling her in, she wasn’t sure which.

_Lifting her hand_ , Louisa realised, as she found her palm pressed against his linen jacket. Her fingers trailed down the line of buttons near its vertical hem – her nail catching and releasing each one with a fleeting,  _‘click’ ‘click’ ‘click’_ .

Spiros did  _nothing_ as he felt her hand slide the inner edge of his jacket. With each button her fingers caught on, the material tugged a little. The effect rippled through every inch of the fabric until he was certain that nothing else touched him – not the press of fog against his neck or the creep of sea around his thighs.

_Spiros, you are a fool…_ He thought, as that exploring hand suddenly crushed the material in a fist and dragged him sharply down.


	3. Chapter 3

His left hand caught the back of the chair, gripping on for life as he was  wrenched toward oblivion.  Her warmth hit first, quicker than the snap of a  split card deck ,  replaced immediately by parted lips and all form of sin.

He could feel her burning through his soul as she bit gently at his lip – then consumed him entirely with one slide of her tongue into his mouth. A moan died on the water. Hers? _His._ How could he tell? Spiros’ brow crumpled into an impassioned frown.

S piros sank  deeper .  The hand on the splintered wood dug in while he reached over Louisa with his other,  anchoring himself.  Kissing her was like drowning. He had no will against her sherry-stained lips or breath that wasn’t immediately swallowed by her.

Louisa felt him crowd  up against her skin .  The scent of him threw over the evening. Eyes closed, the brush of his clothes and the creak of the chair  rumbled threateningly  in her ear . She may have started the kiss but he certainly finished it, pressing  forwards with such fervour that she reached up  to rest her free hand  on the  expanse of his chest. Separated by his shirt and a thin singlet, Louisa  counted each of his heartbeats on her palm – hot as the hell she was surely careening for.

He pulled back first,  struck by sense.

“Mrs Durrells...” Spiros murmured, levering space between them. It was all he could do to keep his lips off of hers. “The – sea...”

She was not entirely sure what he was trying to say but it probably had something to do with the next wave  splashing against his thigh.

“Don’t go,” Louisa begged softly, loosening her grip on his jacket but keeping hold of his shirt to stop him retreating further. There was no one in this moment but _them_ and yet the rest of the world rallied in the shadow s, threatening to overrun their position on the beach. “Being here with you, Spiros,” Louisa continued, unwisely challenging the silence, “it is as if I have found the missing part of myself – washed up with all the shreds of fishing nets and Larry’s dispelled pages.”

His reply was a soft shake of his head. “Mrs Durrells,” he insisted, “you cannot say these things.”

“I know,” she assured him.

This time it was Spiros that took her gently by the shoulders and  coaxed her from the chair. She swayed with the water. He ensured that she didn’t fall with a firm hand on her hip and the other, tangled with hers. They waded to the steps and ascended, pausing every now and then to drink in the view or lean a little closer together. That was all either of them had left, stolen moments before an inevitable ferry ride  that might as well be captained by Kharon.

T ogether, they crossed the crumbling patio  and in to the open kitchen door. A pelican wandered ominously nearby while the oil lamp  Spiros lit earlier  welcomed them with its familiar, scented glow.

Louisa trailed her free hand over the door jam,  indulgently  brushing the rough wood. Remnants of aqua paint flecked off against her skin. Normally she’d  linger but Spiros  moved her firmly into the hallway then left, taking the stairs to the second level. Their footsteps  fell hollow against the ailing boards  until the last one screeched  under their weight.  Each room was a different colour.  As with downstairs, they flickered at the edge of her vision  while they walked, the palette of a deranged Van Gough.

H e knew where her room was. Louisa wondered how many families he’d seen ebb in and out over the years. Dozens at least  and there would be many more after she left. Even now  she imagined their ghosts retreating from the  unlit hallways – tearing down what she had built and with each change, no matter how small, another piece of her dream unravelled.  In ten years she’d have as much agency as the ruined temple hiding in the hills  remembered only by Spiros when he allowed his mind to wander.

“Careful...” Spiros murmured, tightening his grip to stop her teetering into the wall.

She leaned into his shoulder in reply, submitting.  His fingers stumbled opening the bedroom door.

Her shutters were  thrown wide  open leaving the moon to cut the darkness with a bar of white light. Although the walls were lilac, they blended into an even grey along with her neatly made bed and mismatched set of chairs adorned with threadbare clothes.  Her head turned even further into his jacket, hiding from the obvious poverty.

Spiros kissed her hair softly and squeezed her arm reassuringly.

“It is slim pickings beneath the Bohemian fantasy...” She mused against the fabric, more to herself than him. Perhaps she had been deluding herself for the last three years. There was worth in experience but she struggled to tally it tonight.

When they reached the bed, Spiros eased her to sit on the edge while he untangled himself from her grip to light  another oil lamp. The frayed wick caught while the rest of it laid submerged in the amber oil, snaking around the glass bottom of the lantern. It was probably a hundred years old.  Spiros shook the flame off the match.

I t gave immediate warmth to the room. A remnant of joy.

“What are you doing here, Spiros?” Her question was soft yet she fished dangerously in wait of the answer, asking more with her eyes than she dared with her lips. They still tasted of him.

Spiros  perched beside her, careful to keep his wet trouser legs off the covers. He deliberately left an inch or two between them. “Your children are taking over the village, Mrs Durrells,” he began lightly. “I see them in the square playing cards and drinking cheap beer. This, I think, it will not end well. Especially for the other gamblers. Y oung Gerry has the grace of luck  and no care for the reputation of his elders .”

She was neither as surprised nor concerned as she ought to be. “ I may be slow tonight, Spiros but I am not  naive . If my children were in any danger you’d tear the world apart to keep them safe.”

It was true. He could not reply  except to avert his eyes.

“Which means that you came here knowing I would be alone. If you find yourself worrying for my sake, you needn’t. Many times the gods tried to break me. They’ll not start here. Or-” Her eyes wandered down his face, neck, _chest_ before she stopped herself. “Or was there another reason you  drove all this way?”

That he  _dared_ not answer, not even for himself.

“Say _something_.”

“It is true,” he swallowed, taking her hand in both of his. He brushed his thumb over her small, pale knuckles trying to remember how many times he’d kissed them while thinking of her lips. “I was worried about you, alone in this old house. England made you miserable, the last time you returned. Now you must live there and I think that hurts more than you say.”

There was a dragging silence in which Louisa barely drew breath. Then, inevitably, the first hot tear collected in the corner of her eye and tore down her cheek. More followed immediately. He placed her hand against his chest – his eyes speaking of love even if his lips could not.

She shook her head softly, as if trying to dislodge the tears.  One fell on the bed.

“Mrs-”

“I don’t want to go...” She canted sideways into Spiros, leaving him just enough time to release her hand and open his arms, enfolding her carefully. The weight of his head pressed down on hers. “I could stay. _I could_. Why can’t I stay?”

“If you stayed,” he breathed, “because of me and something happened to you or your wonderful children, I would _never_ forgive myself. I have to know that you are safe.”

Louisa pulled herself away from him, wiping her face. “Safety is beholden to no one, Spiros.” Despite all her threats to the contrary, she was not convinced that leaving Corfu was possible.  She  had a right mind to  surprise everyone.  “ I  _mourned_ you,” her voice turned sharp. “That afternoon when you left me  standing outsi-”

He cut her off,  rising immediately  from the bed . “ T hese things  are not to be said... ”

“Not even if they’re true?” Her anger rose, matching the wall he built to protect himself.

“ _Especially_ then.”  Spiros wished he had his hat to twist between his hands. “Both of us – we will always choose our children. I must return to my wife and you will sail for England before the month is out. That is how our story ends, Mrs Durrells. It is written in Larry’s books. Corfu is a dream. Now it is time to wake from it.” His determination wavered at the sight of her tears. Maybe he wasn’t entirely convinced either.

“If your resolve is so steady you would not be protesting at the end of my bed.”

S piros retreated another step.  “I am  _definitely_ not strong,” he breathed – eyes darkening a shade. “Even now, I want to defy reason and-”  Again, he backed away.

L ouisa did not know what to do when he looked at her like that – with red eyes and his jaw tight. Hurting each other was pointless.  “ These are things the forlorn pretend to hear.  Whispers of  thoughts that never were... ”

“Not pretend,” he promised. “You are right. I cannot say these things to you because they are true.”

Louisa looked up to him. He was lit by the warm glow of the lantern,  masking  the rest  of what was  left unsaid  between them .

* ~*~*

In the morning, Louisa woke to an open window  adorned  with a fresh cobweb pulled across one side.  A spider fussed in its corner, spinning silk. Aside from the piercing headache, the only hint that Spiros had been there hours before was a faint trace of salt on the air  and a damp shadow on her rug from his shoes.

D ust spiralled helplessly through the light – a large portion was  ordinary dirt , she was sure, from the unsealed road nearby. Half of Corfu’s soil was layered through her house.  If left unattended it would spawn a jungle.

D isgruntled footsteps and slamming doors thundered through the peace. Children. Predictably flocking towards breakfast and a fresh set of clothes.


	4. Chapter 4

All right – not  _all_ of her children had returned to the nest but three out of four wasn’t too shabby  where her odds were concerned . The youngest was more than likely roaming the wilderness with Theo, lamenting the release of his feathered friends  or trailing after the mysterious girlfriend  he kept quarantined from the family.

Louisa made a conscious decision to ignore the sharp pain drilling through the side of her head and instead set about her usual routine of manufacturing baked goods for the Thursday sale.  Sometimes she liked to think of herself as a one-woman triumph.  It was an inspiring fiction that she thoroughly embraced until Lugaretzia arrived  and  overflowed the bench with traditional Greek pastry that would easily outsell  Louisa’s English charm  despite the dubious fashion lessons she’d taken from Spiros.

“Help your mother!” Lugaretzia demanded fiercely, catching Leslie by the sleeve before he could escape with a slice of toast.

“No I can’t – I’m-”

His protests were utterly pointless. Lugaretzia thrust no less than five baskets at him with a look that could kill minor gods.  Whatever he’d been planning, Leslie set it aside to walk with his mother into town. Without Spiros’  car they were half an hour late and found themselves fighting for an unfavourable position in the sun. At least the crowds were hungry, ravaging their offering for several hours until Louisa’s table was left with scraps  and hopeful pigeons edging in from other tables.

She collapsed onto the rockery behind – seeking out the tiny square of shade freshly formed by the sun’s new position. Wind kicked through the trees, rustling the foliage  while a church bell rang in the distance.  Sweat dried on her face or soaked into her head scarf. Her feet burned in her shoes from standing on the cobblestones.  Honestly she didn’t mind. There was something about the fresh air and unfiltered light that made her feel young again.  It was India, without the claustrophobic humidity.

“I’m off now, yeah, mum?”

Louisa nodded, eyes closed. “Mmm, okay. Have fun, darling.” Although she did not see Leslie’s frustration she was able to imagine it perfectly well. The wars in the Durrell house were far from over but parents had an amazing ability to take a step back from the battlements for a breather.  She could resume being worried about  her second child at a more convenient time.

Stragglers wandered by her table, bartering her measly profit  into nothing with unintelligible complaints.  She gave away the last scone if only to be rid of their company.

“I am too late, I think?” Sven meandered over, looking, if possible, more rustic than before. Spreading himself across two farms had left no time for aesthetics. Louisa remained suspicious. Part of her accused him of indulging the dishevelled look.

“Oh Sven, I would have saved you something but you don’t normally make the market.”

“This is true,” he admitted. “But, how is it that you say? I fancied some civilisation.”

Close enough. “ A little too much goat herding?”

“The new farm is wilder than mine with bad fences. The goats – they run everywhere. I have tried to build terraces on the Eastern slope but such a thing takes time and better knees than mine.”

“I could conscript some of my children to the cause.” Panic swept Sven’s face at her suggestion, which made her break into a laugh. “Obviously not a good idea. I would never dream of inflicting them upon you.”

“Your – your children are remarkable but-”

“-but you wouldn’t trust them within ten feet of a shovel. No. It’s okay, Sven. Neither would I. To be perfectly honest, half the time I don’t trust them in possession of their own two feet.”

S ven’s appearance  at her stall was not accidental but he hid it well under devised spontaneity. “ Perhaps would you like a hand packing up?  I am free.”

“We could have lemonade first.” Louisa nodded at the bar across from the market. She emptied the takings into her purse, covered the empty baskets and nodded to the woman next to her. They often minded each other’s stalls. “Very well, shall we?”

It was refreshingly cool inside, despite the crowd. While Sven ordered, Louisa found herself idling along the bar’s colourful wall, pausing at painted posters glued to the surface. Her written Greek was dreadful, with only a handful of the words emblazoned in ornate font translating. They were _all_ in commemoration of the Great War, immortalising young men from the island that died and a nurse who went missing. Louisa was about to reach toward one of them when Sven nudged her shoulder and encouraged her to sit at the table next to the wall.

“These are remarkable,” she said, nodding at the posters.

Sven’s eyes wandered to each one. There was something about the eyes on the faces that cut through the din of the bar – as if they were living and watching from their static façade. “I noticed them when I first arrived,” he agreed. “At which time I asked the owner about them. They are the work of a local artist who lost three sons in the war. Their mother painted them for herself and the other families before throwing herself off the cliff near the old temple. The beach was too treacherous to recover her and so her body was pulled out to sea.”

Louisa flinched. “That’s _terrible_.”

“A labour of love,” he raised his glass of lemonade to his lips. “People do strange things when they’re upset. Look at myself – I took up accordion.”

“A tragedy for the entire island...” They both smiled. “And you will of course let me sew that hem up later.” She added, nodding to the tear near his elbow. Louisa noticed that Sven watched her with more scrutiny than she was used to. “What’s the matter with you, Sven? Do I have half of Corfu in my hair?”

His face was wonderfully soft – eyes gentle and understanding.

“Ah...” Louisa drawled in resignation, then lowered her lemonade. “You _know_. Dare I ask how?”

“I am not sworn to secrecy,” he assured her. “Although I am also not sure I should say… Spiros is a gentle man, Louisa – he thinks he has done wrong by you last night.”

She sighed and shook her head. “He _hasn’t_ ,” Louisa assured Sven. “I started it – that much I remember – and I am not upset with him. We all do things we regret.”

A very slight smile caught his lip. “Louisa, I seriously doubt he regrets your transgression.” There was a tiny, guilty flicker in Louisa’s eye. “But if you will allow me one word of caution – not advice. I promised not to give you that.”

“You may say whatever you wish, Sven. We are well past mindless pleasantries.”

“Whatever the pair of you do – or do not do – try not to build regret.”

No matter _what_ they did, she was certain they’d live to regret it. “That is the least helpful you’ve ever been.”

“I know but you may thank me later.”

“Do _you_ have regrets?”

Sven suspected that Louisa was referring to his secret love but when he thought of regret, he only thought of _her_. “Yes. I wish I had not hurt you. I regret that. It was a selfish, foolish, desperate grasp in the dark.”

Louisa stretched her arm across the table and found his hand. She squeezed it with a genuine smile. “There is nothing amiss between us. Have certainty.”

“I am glad for that,” he nodded. “Though I shall miss your baking. The Greeks are not indulgent enough to make your English scones.”

She tossed her head back in a laugh. “I imagine Lugaretzia could be bribed. A dozen scones for a bucket of fresh goat milk.”

They drank their lemonade for a while longer, harmoniously sharing tales of Corfu.

“My eldest boys are not coming back with me, are they?” Louisa finally sighed, looking down into the puddle of undissolved sugar and lemon pulp swelling at the bottom of her glass.

“No.” He confessed. “They are young and they are in love. Two things that overwhelm sense.”

“I concede I am resigned to it,” she pushed her glass aside and plucked an old, stained coaster from the table. “Although colour me not entirely thrilled that Larry has taken up with Nancy again. I never thought that girl would be able to separate herself from London society.” Stranger things had happened. “There is one thing I will make you promise.”

Sven listened very carefully to her whispered request before swearing that he would do exactly as she asked.

“Can we – go for a walk?” Louisa added, not wishing to finish the rest of their conversation in the bar.

*~*~*

Sven helped her carry the empty baskets along the road. It was a typically pleasant Corfu day and for a while they simply enjoyed each other’s company, strolling downhill with the sea waiting as a thin line beyond the trees. Louisa did not take him all the way to her house, assuming that some of her children were still there, beaching themselves on the lawn like giant sunfish. Instead, she stole away into a small field of wildflowers hemmed in by towering, ancient cypress. One had fallen in a recent storm and lay as a monster, decaying into the grass. Finches picked their way along its back and at least one snake coiled, invisible against the bark.

They set the baskets on the grass and turned to each other.

“You have letters from Europe,” Louisa began, quite seriously, “tell me the truth, Sven, how much trouble are we in? The radio here says nothing and the papers have not come for weeks.”

“Even my letters,” he replied, voice hushed although they were alone, “are vague. Censorship is the last recourse of tyranny and it is rife through Europe. The banning of your son’s illicit novels are nothing compared to the official propaganda houses.”

“What did they say...”

“Mussolini is the nightmare on our doorstep. Germany has officially declared war on the Allied countries and there is a general feeling that Italy will follow suit and throw in with Germany before the last sad months of this year die out. The Italian Prime Minister remains firmly of the belief that Rome can be reforged as the heart of Western Europe. Mussolini is hell bent on conquering the ancient Italian empire, particularly Greece. Sixteen years ago he began the very same dream with Corfu. Ask Spiros… Behind his smiles lay terror, loss and the sound of ten thousand Italians landing on the beach. There is animosity on this island, Louisa. Scars that cut the people who mill around your market stall. They will burn like touch paper at the strike of a match.”

“And I am supposed to leave you all to this fate? My son as well?” Her eyes covered with unshed tears. “If we are all to wash around in another war, what difference does it make where we fall?”

Sven placed his and against her cheek causing her eyes to avert to the wild grass reaching past her ankles. “You have no camouflage. In this, your beauty is your curse. If the Italians occupy Corfu once more they’ll round up the British – imprison them or worse…”

“Sven, you are _hardly_ Greek.”

“But I could pass as German. I speak enough of the language to survive a check point.”

“I take it you agree with Spiros… That I must take as many children as I can muster and leave...”

“There is no choice.”

*~*~*

“Theo!”

“Mrs Durrell!”

Theo opened his arms in expectation of an embrace long before it was necessary. She was more than happy to indulge him, rocking side to side in the middle of the gravel street as Theo squeezed the life from her. He smelled strongly of spice, no doubt another of his attempts to mask the underlying scent of swamp, sea and whatever animal he’d been studying prior to arriving. That said, he was quite eccentric in his lemon silk suit.

“Goodness, I thought I was quite lost!” Louisa continued, extracting herself before immediately taking his arm so that they could walk on together. “Larry gave me instructions but they were predictably vague.”

“This is, indeed, the way to the Whitehouse,” Theo assured her. “That is Larry’s name for the estate. You will see why shortly.”

She soon discovered that there was more than a _touch_ of irony attached to the name. Indeed, the building was white and quite sizable – being two full stories with a squat third level squashed in line with the water. It boasted blue shutters on each of the rectangular windows, a stark terracotta roof and a wide jetty built directly from the ground level, expanding into the bay where several fishing boats were moored. Behind, Kalami’s mountains shouldered right up to the building with an odd mixture of thick forest and bare ochre rock. The previous owners had defied the harsh environment and sculpted small plots of farm land. The result made the house resemble a discarded skull cast off by a mythological giant.

“Theo, it’s _huge_.”

“More importantly, it is quite remote. From next week I shall quit my villa and take up in _that_ room,” he pointed to the first window on the left facing the water. “And a portion of the lower level. Between your son, his soon to be wife and myself we are able to afford it comfortably enough.”

“It does give me a measure consolation to imagine you are keeping an eye on them,” she confessed, as they wandered off the road and onto the small dirt path that trailed around the edge of the water. The tiny harbour was particularly pretty with shallow, clear water. She could see the detail of fallen boulders beneath the surface and the shadows of fish ducking in between them. There would be an abundance of wildlife to keep his interest. “Speaking of children, have you seen my youngest?”

“Right in front of you,” Theo replied, pointing to the deck behind the jetty. Gerry Durrell raced back and forth with Roger scampering at his heels. There were dozens of people assembling nearby, all dressed in gowns and hats, ready for the wedding.

“This is all rather fast...” Louisa held his arm a little tighter. “A wedding two weeks after Nancy’s return? They must have been planning this for months. Larry never said a word.”

“Try not to be frustrated with him,” Theo begged. “There is very little happiness.”

He was right so she tried terribly hard to shake it off. “I _will_ endeavour, Theo. I promise.” Her gaze wandered to one of the cars pulled up next to the house. Spiros’ unmistakable figure leaned over the door, chatting with a guest.

“Spiros is ferrying people from town,” Theo added, noticing her attention shift. “Of course, he will stay for the ceremony.”

“There is no need to tip-toe around me,” Louisa assured Theo. “Try as I may, secrets are impossible to keep on Corfu.”

Theo placed his free hand onto of hers where it rested on his arm. “Are you familiar with the, ‘Scops Owl’?”

“I am reasonably confident that there is one nesting on my wall,” Louisa replied, before instinctively narrowing her gaze at Theo. “Oh no… You’re not going to try and tell me that they, ‘mate for life’ as a less-than-subtle way of making comment on my laughable folly, are you?”

He was far from put off. “Actually, they _do_ mate for life but they are solitary creatures, hardly a fair comparison.”

“Your next point best not be one of aesthetics...”

She made him laugh warmly as they walked. Her humour was impervious to sorrow. “When a pair of Scops Owls find each other, their calls change. After a great deal of observation it was found that they have a specific tone reserved particularly for their mate. Even amidst all the chaos of the evening hunt they can find each other. I was going to say that you and our friendly cab driver share a voice that you use only with each other. An observation from a naturalist… Nothing more.”

“Careful Theo, we are not birds to be captured.”

Though there was nothing save smiles and fondness in their exchange.

*~*~*

Louisa almost didn’t recognise her eldest son as he emerged from, ‘The Whitehouse’. Far from the artistic recluse prone to shabby dressing gowns, he wore most of a suit complete with a gentlemen’s hat. The barber must have cornered him and cut his hair properly as well – which in and of itself nearly sent her into a symphony of tears.

“Mother...” Larry began, doing is best to create a suave exterior. She’d have none of it, pouncing on him with an embrace to rival Theo. “Mum – mum – _please_...” He fought to peel her off. “No – no don’t cry. The crying part is _later_.”

“I am your mother,” she reminded him firmly, “and I’ll cry whenever I damn well please.”

What Louisa did not see was Spiros’ lopsided smile as he watched quietly from his car.

He did not have the courage to wander over and tell Mrs Durrells that she was the most beautiful creature to linger at the edge of the Ionian Sea. Foolishly, he thought he’d made a note of all her dresses but this knee-length fuchsia creation, belted tightly at the waist with a delicately knit white cardigan was a gem she’d yet to air.

There was one more guest to collect from town, so Spiros reluctantly turned the engine over and drove away from the majestic building and the delighted chorus of party-goers.

*~*~*

The ferry took its time making port, languidly idling across the water while Spiros was left to check his watch repeatedly. His customer was equally alert to the time, vaulting off the ramp with his suitcase before the rope was lifted.

Hugh raised his hand in greeting while bravely taking the steps three at a time. Spiros waved in mimic, hat clutched his other hand while he waited next to his car in the shade beside the road.

“Are we late? Have we missed it?” Hugh leaped into the car.

Spiros joined him with significantly more calm. “Yes, you are late but no, we have not missed the wedding,” he assured him, turning onto the road. “It is good of you to go to such trouble. Long journey...”

“We shall call it luck of timing,” Hugh clarified, calming down. “I had to return to Corfu to settle business, when I heard of the wedding I decided to bring the trip forward. Splendid, really. I miss this crazy island every day.”

Spiros had the good sense not to ask _how_ Hugh found out about the wedding. Mrs Durrells probably wrote to him on occasion – a perfectly natural thing but he was ashamed at the shadow of jealousy he harboured toward Hugh. The man was undeserving of such ungenerous thoughts.

Hugh glanced down at small cluster of pink carnations resting on the seat beside Spiros and found himself grinning. “I was advised that next time we met I might owe you a bouquet of flowers for saving my life but I see someone has beat me to it.”

Spiros was oddly protective of the flowers, sliding them slightly closer to himself. “It was of course tempting to let you bleed out...” He replied, with natural comic brevity. “Several of my cousins pick olives for you in the grove – if you die, they are out of work.”

“So you _didn’t_ do it to win the affections of an English lady? Have no fear, Spiros. I understand perfectly that hearts can not be warred over – at least I did after a moment of self pity and half a dozen stitches. We are friends, I hope, you and I.”

He made a concerted effort to temper his ridiculous jealousy. “Are you still with-”

“Ah _no_...” Hugh replied, rather sensibly. “I have found someone, shall we say, less inclined toward sharp objects.”

“Probably for the best, Mr Hugh.”

“I dare say you are right, Spiros.”

They drove in peace. Hugh embraced Corfu as an old friend, leaning back against the air, staring at the sky or off into the fields. If he noticed the empty farms or animals wandering, owner-less around the streets he did not say.

“Spiros, will you be so good as to drive me home to the grove after the wedding?”

“Certainly,” Spiros agreed.

“Good.” Hugh replied. “Very good.”

*~*~*

The atmosphere brimmed with nostalgia. Old faces crowded the jetty, roughly divided into two sides as they mingled. This time, Spiros parked his car and braved the masses, nodded and smiling his way through the rabble until he reached the pink flourish loitering at the edge. Louisa stood with one hand on the jetty’s pylon, staring longingly at the water as Spiros so often caught her doing. This time, he could not help but wonder if it was last night she thought of. It certainly occupied most of his waking moments.

“How are you, Mrs Durrells?” Spiros asked, reverting to the safety of her married name.

Her mood was lazy. She was learning to unhook her claws from Fate and cast her lot in with the wind, particularly where her children were concerned. “It is not easy,” she replied, not yet looking to him, “allowing our children to grow up. They are our whole world – every waking thought and worry. Then, without warning they are gone. Released into the wild. Yours are mercifully younger than mine. There is time left for you to enjoy their trials.”

“This is the natural order of things,” he tried to reassure her, while at the same time aware that sets of eyes among the crowd were already drawn to them. “If you will allow me, I have brought you a gift.”

Intrigued, Louisa turned from the water to see Spiros holding three pink carnations. Their stems were cut short and tied together with thread. “Spiros…” She breathed, knowing full well that she should scorn him but at the same time dying slightly at the tender gesture. There was no resistance as Spiros slid the arrangement into her hair.

“There...” He added, once they were safely in place. “ _Now_ this is a wedding.”

“It is probably not considered proper to ask but – but will you stand with me?” There were plenty who would offer to fill the gap at her side but more than anything, Louisa wanted it to be _him_.

“I would not stand anywhere else.”


	5. Chapter 5

The wedding came and went as a dazzling blur. Louisa must have cried at some point for she remembered Spiros deliberately taking her hand in his enormous paw during the ceremony and holding tight to disapproving looks. Afterwards, the formality dispersed and the guests were left to cluster on the jetty with glasses of wine and the scratch of a record player echoing the wedding waltz.

Theo’s voice rose above the rest as he excitedly delved into detail about an alarming sea eagle sitting on Gerry’s arm. The bird stretched its wings and flapped them elegantly, shedding amber feathers over the ground while Roger barked excitedly, snapping at them. Above and all around the outskirts of the house, balls of coloured light flickered into life. Rarely had she come across a scene of such perfection. Even the fishing boats moored nearby shouted cheers.

Louisa dipped her head into the Whitehouse, curiosity getting the better of her as she edged into the foyer to inspect Larry’s new home. She was relieved to find it in a partial state of collapse, like every other building on Corfu.

A generous Moroccan rug ran the length of the entrance hall masking years of abuse on the slate tiles beneath. Its red, white and ochre pattern spoke of a distant land and the unknown adventure of the previous owner. She kept similar items on her mantle. A figurine or two of an Indian god whose name she could not recall and a portrait painted for her in Roorkee. Above, architraves sagged into alarming angles and sheets of paint peeled away from the wall beside her to reveal earlier incarnations. _Soul_ , Louisa like to think. Damage and repair was part of life and while ever the walls stood, it remained a home.

Muffled snivelling caught her attention. Louisa could not help herself, intruding further into the house until she discovered the source of the noise on the ground level, tucked into a seat beside one of the enormous windows. The glass was stained with moss and cracked in places but the view beyond of the water remained an embellished mirage of hope, if not disconnected from his fellow revellers.

“Leslie, darling...” She crept closer, not quite sure how to approach her son. His usually pale face had turned an alarming shade of pink. Thick, hot tears streamed over his cheeks. Idly, he picked at a loose thread on the armchair, unravelling it inch by inch – his gaze firmly fixed on the view beyond the window.

“Go away,” he muttered, predictably.

“You know I won’t do that,” she replied, softly. There were no more chairs so Louisa knelt on the bare boards at his feet and placed a gloved-hand on his knee. “Are you going to make me guess?”

“I deserve it, really...” He replied, miserably. “ _Karma_ and all that Eastern stuff Larry rambles on about.”

Louisa’s look was one of infinite patience. “Most of what Larry says is useless drivel – even if he does say it very well. Come on...” She hated it when her children were hurting, even if the injury was self inflicted. “Tell me what has happened.”

“Sofia and I are _off_.”

“Oh.”

“She is going back to Tricase _today_.” He was a boiling mixture of furious and hurt.

 _So it was not only the British who were leaving_ , Louisa thought to herself. If the situation really was deteriorating, it made sense for the Italians to flee. The death of peace was written on every wall. “My darling, probably it is for the best. You know what is coming.”

“But it’s not _fair_. Why should dictators get to decide who we fall in love with? What is it to _them_ if Italians, Greeks and English want to live together? Why do we have to hate each other just because they tell us to? Or – or because someone did something twenty years ago! Look at you and Spiros! It’s _rubbish_.”

“It is one of the terrible miseries of the world – of which, I am sorry to say, there are many. You will discover more of them as you travel through life. This place is not a garden of Eden. It never was.” That did not stop her withdrawing a handkerchief from her purse, handing it to him so that he could make a start on his tears.

“That doesn’t help.”

“I know,” she admitted. “It has not been the day for good advice. I am not sure if this is any better but if your father were here today he’d say that the hardest thing about growing into a man is coming to the realisation that not every question has an answer – not every path leads to a town – not every love finishes as we might wish and not every life begun is given the chance to succeed.”

While Leslie cried for his lost love, Louisa’s chest clenched. The force of it nearly crushed her heart. Her husband was a _memory_. He had made the transition into the past tense without her realising. Years alone raising his children had not done it. No. Certainly this was her doing. Leslie _was right_. Life wasn’t fair.

*~*~*

Louise returned to the party which was thickening on the jetty. Those who had come purely out of obligation were gone leaving a happy mass dancing, drinking and talking cheerfully. She crunched her nose playfully at the sound of an accordion, instantly spotting Sven among the Greeks. Theo was beside him, drink in hand toasting Larry and Nancy – who were in turn doing the rounds.

“Oh, very good, Spiros...” She grinned, spotting Spiros return from the car clutching his faithful guitar. She hoped only that he did not notice the faint hint of red around her eyes. “Have you come to compete with Sven?”

“Definitely, Mrs Durrells. A guitar always will triumph against tiny piano.”

“Play something lively,” she insisted, as he continued past her to stand next to Sven and the impromptu band that was building. Instruments appeared from _nowhere_ and by the time Spiros played the opening chords to a Greek song, he had a full accompaniment. His voice entered the air and she found herself indulging in the whim that he sang only to _her_. She loved that _he loved_ the mess of celebration.

“This is the Corfu I remember.”

“Hugh...” Louisa spun around with a broad smile on her lips. She was genuinely pleased to see his face again. “I was not entirely sure you’d make it in time, given the rush.”

“Well,” he was momentarily interrupted by her embrace, “your family is nothing if not spontaneous.”

“You have me there.” Louisa stole a glass of wine from a nearby table and handed it to him.

He lifted it in another toast to her Larry. “This is one of those times I wished I’d taken the care to have children.”

“You say that now,” Louisa sipped her own drink, “but crushed between these moments of joy are inches and inches of suffering – like bookends on an English romance novel.”

Hugh was genuinely amused. The carnations set in her hair did not slip his attention. Whatever was going on between her and Spiros, he had no intention of being tangled up in the middle. “As lovely as this is, I am not here entirely for the wedding.”

“No, of course – your precious groves. Whatever will you do with them?”

“One thing is certain, I cannot dig them up and take them with me. Don’t worry,” he added, seeing her mood threaten to fall. “I came here with a plan. In the meantime, can I tempt you with a dance?”

His charm was perfectly innocent and Louisa willingly set her glass aside.

As they danced through the crowd, Hugh steered them towards a quiet corner where the lap of water against the jetty was louder than the music. “There is a passage booked to England shy of a month from now,” he added, taking deliberate care to whisper the details across her ear. “Larry has explained your situation and I managed to clear tickets for all members of the Durrell family. Even your four-legged child.”

“We are very grateful to you, of course but Larry has decided to _stay_. Possibly Leslie too but – we’ll see after he sobers up. Don’t ask...”

“Larry’s ticket will remain valid. Technically, you could bring _anyone_ with you. I have a contact at the Home Office who does not ask as many questions as he should...”

“Let me stop you there – kind as you intend it.” Louisa shook her head. “Believe me, I know what you’re suggesting but it’s impossible. Quite – quite impossible...” Even if she fantasied for nights on end at the prospect of Spiros stepping onto the dock beside her.

Silence dragged between them. The air, full of music and cheer, felt in opposition to the serious terror creeping in on them from all sides. Like shadows at dusk, they were feeding off each other. “I speak, of course, of _Theo_.”

Her laughed choked out – relieved. She dipped her head forward, laying against his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her gently as they continued to shuffle on the floor.

*~*~*

Louisa was not sure how much of the night passed as she and Hugh danced with the rest of the party. Songs came and went. The daylight finally felt the tug of darkness, pulling the blue water into shades of grey. Lights dotted the horizon from distant shipping lanes where the Greek Navy patrolled nervously with their eyes set on Albania.

“If I did not know any better, I’d say I’m about to be vanquished…” Hugh murmured good naturedly, parting slightly from Louisa as Spiros picked his way through the crowd. He had bequeathed his guitar to another guest and pushed his hands nervously into his pockets. Spiros was definitely a man that needed something to fuss with. “Go on,” Hugh added, encouraging Louisa’s boldness.

Hugh walked by Spiros, nodding slightly as they passed each other. That did nothing to steel Spiros’ nerves. The curious eyes of Corfu never stopped pursuing him – waiting for him to step on invisible threads. To break unspoken rules. To fuel the fires of gossip. Still, all he could see in this moment was Mrs Durrell with her gaze nervously cast on him in expectation. The slightest blush in her cheek... In the end, he did not even ask her to dance. Instead, Spiros extended his hand toward her and she took it without question. From there they slid into a timid embrace – his hand shifting to the small of her back and hers reaching up to hook over his shoulder. Closely matched in height, they found themselves staring intently at one another, almost forgetting to move their feet to the music.

Until now she had never appreciated the power of silence. In silence imagination was given free roam. Hers certainly drifted to his lips. The heat of his hand on her back was enough to close her eyes indulgently for a moment or two. Despite the music, she could hear his breath on the air and smell the faintest trace of dust collected on his jacket from his trips up and down the road in his open-topped car. Corfu attached itself to Spiros and he, in turn, became a vessel for all the love she harboured it. When she moved to him, she embraced _everything_.

“It’s all right...” Spiros dropped his voice to whisper, then stepped closer, folding her into his arms completely. “We are not saying, ‘goodbye’ tonight. Only dancing, Mrs Durrells.”

Louisa helplessly canted forward, bringing both her arms gently to drape around his neck. She lowered her head, hiding against his shoulder. He replied by shifting his other hand to her back so that he was holding her against his chest. Her tightly curled hair brushed his cheek. He smiled and dipped his head, recklessly grazing his lips against her neck. She tightened her hold in reply and he knew he’d never be able to let her go. At least, not in his heart. If an ocean came between them, he’d still think of her – always her.

*~*~*

“Should I ask?” Hugh sidled up beside Sven, both of them watching the shocking display.

Sven’s idea of respect was refraining from his usual, ‘Huge’ greeting. “They are beyond comment or assistance.”

“I can see that.” Spiros and Louisa were practically indiscernible from one another under the criss-cross of coloured light. “Say – I don’t suppose I could have a go of that accordion of yours?”

“Absolutely _not_.”

Hugh sipped his wine. “At this rate, I shall have to drive myself home.”

By the look of things, Spiros was so wrapped up in his English woman that he’d entirely forgotten he owned a taxi service. The guests that chose to leave early were making their way up the road on foot – none of them game to approach the entwined couple while the island’s other taxis would not dream of infringing on the Great Spiros’ territory.

“I really should do something to help him...” Hugh eventually added, a few hours later. “The man’s heart is going to send him broke.”

*~*~*

“What do you think of the house?” Spiros asked Louisa, long after Hugh had come and taken his car keys.

Spiros and Louisa escaped the jetty and wandered onto a small stone path that crept around the side of the house. Uneven terraces spasmed into the gaps that opened up between the mountains and the sea. They were shadows now – monsters against the evening sky. Squat lemon trees and oranges grew side by side, while beneath weeds strangled tomato, chilli and capsicum plants. There were vines too, planted among wire frames. Left to roam, some of them had begun their conquest of the house, wrapping supple green creepers along the crumbling pillars of the overhanging awning.

Louisa kept hold of Spiros’ hand as they meandered around together, heading nowhere in particular. “Generally, I like it. I am a little jealous,” she added, with a flare of mischief. “All their windows have glass. Two of mine are boarded up. There are less stray animals… Though Theo may make swift work of that.”

“It is also larger.”

She swatted his contrary shoulder, “Don’t encourage me!” But he was a mountain against her attack, bouncing off like an insect to a window. “I cannot believe you allowed Hugh to borrow your car. I do believe you are warming up to him.”

Deeper into the garden they found fresh waters pools with rockeries. The stones shone silver in the evening light, like pieces of the moon fallen and re-arranged around fragments of the abyss. Goldfish ducked and weaved between weed beds, some with brazen gold and black stripes. In the daylight she was certain they’d be perfectly ordinary. “Spiros?”

“Yes, Mrs Durrells...” Even though he used her last name, with each step they took away from the rest of the party his caution died a little more. Perhaps if they reached the other side of the island and stood in the shadow of a yawning sea cave he’d have the courage to use her name again.

“Were you born on Corfu?” There was no need for him to answer. Louisa could tell from his surprise that he most certainly was. “There is something I have been meaning to ask you.” But now that he was looking at her with such intensity, she wasn’t sure that she could. “About – about Corfu. Sven said you were here in nineteen twenty-three...”

For the first time, Louisa watched Spiros freeze over as though he’d been struck in the face. She realised that Spiros had never told her why he left for Chicago. Why he felt he had to leave a home he clearly adored. Suddenly she was wading in deep water.

“Sprios I’m _sorry_ ,” she immediately retreated.

He could easily guess at what she wanted to ask. “Not tonight,” he offered in reply. “Tomorrow – we go for a drive and – ask me then.”

“Okay...” And this time it was Louisa that lifted their entwined hands and brought them up to her lips, kissing his knuckles in a mimic of the affection he often showed her. He had such warm hands. She did not wish to let them go and he was making no move to encourage her to do so.

“We are making this worse, aren’t we?” He whispered, heart thundering as her soft lips touched his hand.

“No. That would not be possible.”

*~*~*

“I had my doubts that you would remember me, Spiros,” Hugh admitted, reclined in the passenger seat.

It was nearer two am than one and the only lights left came from the oil lamps scattered on tables around the jetty. The remaining guests consisted of Larry and Nancy’s closest friends and they were entering ever greater levels of profligacy brought on by liquor. Spiros himself looked rather suspicious but Hugh knew the man too well to suspect him of anything other than amorous innocence. Probably, they only talked. Besides, he had watched Louisa stumble into the house along with several other guests who were staying the night.

“Ah – and before I forget, here are your takings for the night.” Hugh extracted a pile of notes from his jacket pocket.

“That was very kind of you,” Spiros admitted, taking the money and noting that it was considerable more than he’d make in an evening – mostly because he forgot to charge.

“Do not mention it. I quite enjoyed my foray into chauffeuring. I could join the taxi ranks and turn a tidy profit.”

“Home?”

“Yes please. If she is still there.”

“All is well with your grove,” Spiros assured him, driving off into the night.

*~*~*

The upper level of the Whitehouse boasted a dizzying offering of rooms, all of them pealing off from the main hallway in an identical display. Larry had attempted, most valiantly given his current state of intoxication, to direct her to the guest room he’d prepared but every room she entered was found packed with Theo’s curiosities. Most were benign; containers of preserved creatures, brass instruments, endless notebooks, nets, baskets and all manner of thing. One room housed cages and glass jars with alarmingly vast spiders tapping at their prisons – baring curved fangs. She covered her mouth, backing away so quickly that she caught her hip on a chair and tumbled to the ground in a great _crash_.

Dazed, she picked the next room. Finding it furnished with a bed, Louisa closed the door behind her and retreated to its relative safety.

_Goodness_ , she thought, listening to the oppressive drone of cicadas coming in from the open window.  This place was a zoo.

Louisa slipped her shoes off and curled up on the covers, facing the window. There was a view only of the mountain’s shadow and a stream of stars above. A few clouds stumbled across, blanking out the light and every now and then a lone seagull raced the vision,  flashing its white feathers even in the dark.

The memory of Spiros’ hands on her arms and back – his lips at her neck, were all pressed into her mind. She could not close her eyes without them screaming at her. It was an adolescent  _madness_ . An overwhelming of the senses that she, being a widower, should have grown out of long ago. It was not right that her stomach dropped and throat turned parch at the very thought of his eyes on her. Worse, this was not a recent development brought on by harrowing confessions of love – these fevers had been with her since the opening weeks of their acquaintance. Forever, she banished them,  hoping that the next time he pulled into her driveway she’d be able to rise above is cheer and attentions. Now, she risked everything by letting them play out in full as she drifted off to sleep.

*~*~*

_They needed pruning_ . Even in the pitch of night Hugh could see the excess shoots crossing the canopies of his grove. There had been proper rain on the island followed by warm days. All of it was written in his olives. They were a map of the days past  that never ventured a lie.

“Come inside a moment, Spiros.” Hugh insisted.

Spiros was reluctant but he was even less keen on returning to his own house where his wife waited with eyes full of questions he’d never answer. The chasm between them grew daily – entirely of his own making.

Wisely, Hugh brewed them both tea, setting the cups  and saucers on the table. “No milk, I’m afraid,” Hugh apologised. There were cobwebs linking the spines on the bookshelf that  lorded over the opposing wall of the lounge room. Indeed, the entire residence had an air of abandonment. Nature wasted no time reclaiming man’s things once they were left unattended. “You know, I am almost disappointed to find everything in place,” Hugh continued. “I thought there might have been grand parties held here in my absence.  A goat or two in the kitchen.”

“You are a respected man, Mr Hugh,” Spiros replied, helping Hugh light some of his lamps. “The workers take care of your house as if it were theirs.”

“And for that, I am ever grateful. Sometimes I forget how honest life is in Corfu. This place is a bubble of serenity. I wish, more than anything, that I could stay. Ten years in its arms has left me ill prepared for England. I find I dislike the rain more than I imagined.”

“Very much I would like to visit England one day. Waves, even to the Queen.”

H ugh  _nearly_ asked him  there and then to accept passage on the ferry until he remembered Louisa’s warning. There must be something pinning Spiros to Corfu if she refused to smuggle him off the island. “I hope that you get your wish.” They shared a few quiet sips of tea before Hugh continued. “Let us speak frankly for a moment.”

Spiros almost wished he’d been offered gin instead. “As you  like , Mr Hugh.”

“I love these groves. They are – everything to me. Heavens, I nearly died in their shade and that would not have been the most terrible thing.”

“They are very well kept. Many say that you saved them from the forest.”

“Farming is a blood sport. No matter how much you love your crop it can sour in a moment. Too much rain – too little rain – wind at the wrong moment or a passing deluge of hail... We are all mad idiots, farmers. That Swede included. All that being said, I tell you the truth, Spiros, I could not bear to think of her in the hands of the government – left to wrack and ruin or worse, turned into something I cannot abide. It was my intention to return to Corfu and wait out the war under the sway of these bowers.”

“That is not safe-”

“-do not worry, there is no need to fight me on the point. I have been called into service. In December they are sending me to Gibraltar. Ordering – actually… I need to get used to that word again.” And the first step in doing so was a sip of tea. “In any case, I wonder if you are aware that I have never been blessed with children?”

Spiros was – unsure where Hugh was going with his thoughts. He had the look of a weary man, one that was grasping at shadows in search of a light. Behind his easy smiles, Hugh was uncharacteristically upset. “Yes I – I had heard.”

“A terrible folly, I am afraid. One that I doubt I’ll be given the chance to correct. Please, no pity, Spiros. That is not what I asked you here for. If I was after a commissary drink, I’d have brought Theo. He could sink Poseidon himself. What I want to propose it quite different. Here, let me show you.”

Hugh left the table, crossing to the suitcase he’d brought with him. Snapping the locks, he fussed his way through a few layers of clothes before withdrawing a letter. He returned to the table, sliding the letter across the surface to Spiro s.

“This is for you,” Hugh said, inviting him to open it. When Spiros did not understand what he was reading, Hugh explained. “Those are the deeds to the grove drawn up by my lawyers, made out to _you_ in the event of my death or if I do not return from service. In the meantime it grants you permission to run the grove as you see fit or live in the house if you  prefer. I will continue to pay the workers.”

Spiros was silent, shocked.  The house was a grand mansion compared to his with several barns and a proper garage. Its furnishings alone were beyond his grasp. “You – you cannot give me this thing,” he eventually stuttered. To a man like him, it was a fortune.  Certainly he did not deserve it.

“Well, I did consider Larry but he doesn’t strike me as a farmer...” It was meant to be humorous but Spiros’ hands were shaking. “It’s all right, you don’t have to accept if you truly do not wish. Perhaps it was stupid of me. I can’t stand to think of what will happen if I don’t return. Of all the people in the world Spiros, I know you care for every corner of Corfu.” There was a very long pause before Hugh unwisely added. “Louisa sees the same thing in you.”

Even her name unsettled the Greek.  It was as though the plates of the Earth shifted beneath him.

“I will do this thing for you,” Spiros eventually replied, folding the letter and sliding back into the envelope, “but only if you swear that you will return to claim your grove.”

“Be sure of one thing, Spiros. If there is breath left in me, I’ll find my way back to Corfu. We all would.”

*~*~*

It was a predicament. Three am was the absolute boundary of Theo’s partying ability, exasperated by more shots of kumquat liqueur than he could count. The door frame, for instance, was now an integral part of his structural integrity and he kept a strangling grip on it as he considered the problem snoring softly on his bed.

Normally he’d wander off into another room and fret about the embarrassment in the morning but Larry, bless his heart, had been overly generous with his offer to put up guests for the night and booked out the Whitehouse. Indeed, he had navigated  many  corpses on the ground floor and one unfortunate creature draped down several steps of the staircase still clutching a glass. A roaring success. Larry and Nancy were very happy but that did not help Theo one bit.

Limited in his choices, Theo decided to drag his clothes silently into a pile at the corner of the room before thieving one of the pillows from the bed and consigning himself to the floor, curling up like Roger often did while he and Gerry discussed their research for hours.

The noise of nature roared compared to his villa. There, it was kept at a distance. He brought into its depths only what he wished to study  until an almost laboratory circumstance .  It was all terribly controlled and he confessed to quite liking things that way. Here, the wildlife of Corfu beat at the walls, demanding attention  with claw, feather, beak, fin and fang .  This was, ‘The Durrell Way’, as he came to understand. Inside the  White house he’d captured and catalogued several new species of spider and he was sure to find half a dozen bats ensconced in the roof  living out a gay existence in the cavernous expanse . The building was a living thing – like one of Corfu’s majestic white caves  and from the woman sleeping in the nearby bed, he had much to learn.

* ~*~*

Louisa woke to a shock of sunlight. In under half an hour, the sun had stripped every drop of moisture from the air and chased off the  banks of  mist  draped across the water . There was no breeze. Stifling, she pushed her cardigan off her arms  and extracted a few leaves that had woven themselves into her hair. The carnations slipped free, falling onto the bed beside her. A thin brown line ruined their jagged edges, staining their beauty. She touched the dying petals reverently until one detached against  her finger. Perhaps it was pure folly but Louisa placed the flowers back in her hair, faults and all.

“Oh _dear_...” She mustered pity for Theo, who slept against the wall beside the door. Attempts to rouse him were fruitless so she left another pillow and beside his head. The heat would wake him soon enough.

The body count increased as she descended to the ground level. Larry would be very proud of himself when he finally came around and saw the extent of dishonour among his guests. It was worthy of a chapter in one of his debauched novels.

One child married. The others were – well she  _hoped_ they were somewhere in the house.

“ _Kaliméra, Mrs Durrells! Kaliméra Mrs Durrells!”_

Louisa stopped to wave at a pair of fishermen on a nearby boat. They were friends of Spiros – she could tell by how they addressed her. More than half the island called her, ‘Mrs Durrells’ on account of his relaxed grasp of English. They were also uncommonly generous for fear of his wrath.

The stroll back to her house took several hours and by the end of it, she was glad for the monstrous olive trees that shaded the road with bowing limbs. Their leaves looked like yellow tears when the heat knocked them free.

“ _Spiros! ASPIROSA! Spiros!”_ The Magenpies bounced raucously along the stone wall.

“Shush!” Louisa snapped at them. Like a mob of bloody teenagers, they were. Free or not. “Stop that!” She was convinced that they contained the island’s evil spirits. They had taunt themselves enough to call poor old Roger to heel in both English and Greek. They clucked in mimic of Lugaretzia until all the chickens in the yard collected, confused, upon the kitchen step. Worst of all… The Magenpies were in the habit of shouting Spiros’ name. At first it had been a joke on him, causing him to race back to the house but now it cracked pieces off her heart.


	6. Chapter 6

One of these days, the heat was going to kill him. Spiros was certain of it. His body simply wasn’t built for endless Summers which dragged so much water from the Ionian Sea that the tides exposed Corfu’s bleached roots. Gnarled and weary. Bits and pieces of coral, sandstone and pumice. Weed beds that went on forever with their thick, leathery straps glistening in the sun, curling up as they died.

As a child, he’d raced barefoot over the mess of rock and white sand to pick sea slugs from the rapidly evaporating rock pools. Brightly coloured anemone were scattered over the expanse like baubles and hermit crabs of varying size dragged their uncouth shells into the shade. Sometimes he even chased the tide, vanishing into the embrace of the sea to swim in the deep channel. Buoys marked the edge of the treacherous water but they were more of a suggestion to the boats than an actual representation of the dangerous shoals that had set vessels to wreck since the earliest days. They lay beneath the surface. Ghosts and mirages. The children fantasied about treasure buried in the silt and tried, unwisely, to dive for it. The most they ever found were fragments of pottery.

Those times sat fondly in his memory. Every now and then he was able to dip his toe into them, especially when watching Master Gerry with Roger scampering on those same beaches with the curl of the ocean lingering behind. An endless repetition of blue and white.

‘ _Spiros! Spiros! Spiros!’_

“Morning Magenpies...” Spiros replied cheerfully, ignoring their excited fumble of feathers on the wall. He was utterly impervious to their malevolence and instead loved the idea that they had taken the trouble to learn _his name_ in particular. It was something he teased Theo with whenever he had the chance. Theo’s retaliation was to spend hours repeating his own name to the birds only for them to reply, _‘Spiros!’_ indignantly. “Morning, Master Leslie,” he added, spotting one of the Durrell children tucked into a nook overlooking the bay.

Spiros diverted from the Durrell house, instead heading over to see what Leslie was up to. His quiet, unselfish curiosity was one of Spiros’ greatest oddities. It was often in these unexpected moments that he drew people out from their holes and back into the light. Spiros was a boisterous creature by nature and yet he was the first to notice the silence in others. In this case, he was aware that there had been some talk of Leslie’s Italian girl packing herself onto the early ferry, never to return. A sad state of things. The beginning of many more, if gossip was to be believed. That is how the world unravelled – one failed romance at a time. His – soon to be added to that list.

Leslie was perched on one of Larry’s discarded chairs which he’d set in the shade of a cypress. The uneven, stony slope left him at an angle, held in place by his foot anchored against a boulder. He’d clipped several sheets of paper to a board, which he nursed. An old biscuit tin rested beside him. Charcoal was smudged comically over his hands and face but the focus of his labour was quite remarkable.

“Master Leslies… You are very talented artist, I thinks.” Spiros loomed behind, as imposing as any tree on the island. With no jacket, maroon suspenders cut into his pale blue shirt with an edge of sweat. Too hot. That’s what it was today. “This is an honest opinion.” He insisted. Leslie _was_ gifted. Indeed, of all Mrs Durrell’s children, he had the most eclectic set of skills. Louisa once confessed to Spiros that she worried he’d fumble around between them forever, never finding something to focus on. He assured her that all would be well.

“I couldn’t find my watercolours...” Leslie replied, mournfully. “Mum’s probably packed them already. She’s made a start, you know. Boxes everywhere but with no sense or thought toward order. I don’t think she’s ever quite got the hang of being a parent.”

“Do not speak of your mother like this,” Spiros reminded him, albeit gently. “There are fours of you and one of her. Mrs Durrells tries very hard to make things right here. She is a saint.”

Leslie rubbed the charcoal into his page, turning a smear into part of the bay. He didn’t mean any of what he said and Spiros understood. Instead of berating him further, the taxi driver squatted his not inconsiderable frame beside the chair and they sat quietly for a while, doing nothing but enjoy the view in silence. Leslie was drawing the Greek Navy as dots upon the horizon. More and more each day, lazing through the water like swans.

“I’ve been thinking, Spiros,” Leslie added. “I am an adult now. I can take Margo and Gerry to England myself – make sure they go to school. I’ll find a job and – and mum can stay here – _with you_.” He noticed Spiros’ shock at both the proposal and the assumption. “None of us are blind. It is true, though, isn’t it – that if your wife had stayed in Athens you would be living here, with us?”

“It is best not to talk about such things...”

“Best for whom – the village? All I know, Spiros, is that mum is miserable when you’re not here. What is she going to be like if we go to England? A _nightmare._ That’s what. Back on the gin.”

Spiros shot the boy a disapproving look, mostly for the quip about the gin. “Even – even _ifs_ that were possible, your mother must return to England. The war has a louder voice than any of us. It is your job, Master Leslie, to make sure she is safe.”

“It would have been okay,” Leslie added, much later as they sat together. “I mean, if you were our new father. We all discussed it and agreed. Basically true anyway.”

To that, Spiros had no idea what to say so he removed his hat and twisted it between his hands.

*~*~*

“Theodore!” Exclaimed Larry, bumbling into the room, half draped in a robe and looking more like his usual self. Theo took a moment to stir from his drunken reverie before he realised, with horror, that he was sprawled on the floor in a most uncouth manner. “There’s a perfectly good bed you _fool_ ,” Larry continued, pointing in its direction.

“There was an angel occupying it at the time,” Theo replied, clearing his throat and sitting up carefully. He leaned against the wall, staring into the sunlight. Oh yes, too much drink and not enough water. A mistake he’d arrived at many times but never seemed to learn from.

For a moment Larry wasn’t sure if Theo was quite well before the whole meaning of the answer struck him. “Oh, do you mean mother? I had wondered what became of her…” After he’d seen her and a certain taxi driver wander off into the night. “Though I am not sure I place as much faith in her divinity as you seem to, Theo. If she is an angel, she is a fallen one.”

Theo took immediate and great exception to the slight on Louisa. He retrieved his glasses from his pocket and cleaned them on a pale yellow silk kerchief. “Your mother is a woman of _quality_ ,” he insisted, “and – and challenges...” He allowed. “Same as any of us that care to face the fray.”

“What _is it_ with the men of this island?” Larry was theatrical in his defeat. “My mother has you all wrapped up in some kind of alternate monarchy. I’ll never understand it.” And yet none of his words were mean spirited or harsh. It was pure bewilderment. “Maybe you are _all_ a little in love with her. Sven, Hugh, You, Spiros – it’s exhausting keeping up.” Unable to reason anything further out of Theo, he decided to put the whole mess in a novel and be done with it.

*~*~*

“SHUT UP!!!” Screeched Louisa, at the top of her lungs. “You _god damn birds_! I _swear_ I am going to catch you myself, clip your wings and post you to _bloody_ Athens where you can fight the pigeons for bits of old bread! I mean it! _Ohhhh..._ ” Her fury died the moment she saw Spiros appear from the scrap of bush at the side of the house, carrying his hat. “H-how long have you been here?” She asked, seriously hoping that he hadn’t been privy to her fury.

“I saw and heard _nothings_ , Mrs Durrells,” he assured her, lying extremely poorly as usual. She had changed into her blue and white spotted day dress, bizarrely hitched together with a lime-green belt. Even wearingly scandalously little, she struggled with the heat, same as him.

“I am sorry, Spiros. These Magenpies have such cheek on them. I have no doubt that they plan to follow me all the way back to England just so they can have the pleasure of squawking your name outside my window.”

Her frustration amused him greatly. Far too late he caught himself grinning through her rant. Spiros was certain Mrs Durrells could argue the sun out of the sky. “Would you like to go for a drive?” He asked. “Last night you asks me a question and I believe I have found a way to answer it. Also, it is cooler where we are headed. Much nicer, I promise.”

“That alone would have sold me on the idea,” she assured him. “Give me a moment and I’ll join you.” Louisa added, before ducking into the house to undo her apron and fetch her handbag, hat and gloves. Roger raced inside as she was about to leave, spreading sea water paw-prints all over the floor. He was followed closely by her youngest typhoon. “Slowly! Heaven’s _sake_...” Louisa shouted, uselessly.

“I’ve lost a scorpion!” Gerry screeched – although it was difficult to tell if it was with excitement or concern.

“Well – well make sure you find it before I get home!” But she was unable to follow through with a meaningful threat. She’d run out of imaginative ways to punish her children. They had transgressed so many times that her list was exhausted.

Louisa headed outside to find Spiros standing by the passenger door, which he had opened for her. He waited beside, rigid like a doorman on a grand hotel and just as handsome. At least, she thought so as she sat in the car.

“Scorpion problems...” She offered, as way of explaining her boisterous child.

“Bad things,” he insisted. “I get you Rosemary for your windows. Stops scorpions.” Their eyes never left each other as he closed the door and circled, climbing in beside her. She always loved the way her side of the leather seat lifted slightly with his presence.

“This is quite an adventure,” she said, as they started off. The heat was immediately quelled by the air against her face. She draped her arm over the door and revelled in the freedom Spiros’ drives always brought. She’d love nothing more than to let him drive her around in circles for the whole day with no purpose. How frivolous and wonderful. The brim of her hat kicked up but she had it tied in place with a matching sash. His favourite – she knew, as was the dress – cut a fraction higher on the knee than was reasonable. It rode up her legs even now and she’d caught him look more than once. “Where are we going?”

It was impossible for Spiros to stop himself turning to his left, eyes wandering over her whenever he could thieve a moment. He was like the man who fished from the cliff, knowing full well that the first good bite would throw him under the waves. There was a thrill in that but also the relentless threat of dark waters.

“Home,” he replied simply.

*~*~*

Corfu Island was larger than people realised. Sickle shaped and ferociously green it was named for Corkyra, daughter of the great river god, Asopos. Spiros shared the story of the kidnapped maiden with Louisa as they drove, exaggerating as much of it as he could manage. It was a game to him, seeing how far he could take the stories before she broke into laughter and called him out.

“Poseidon brought her here, to Corfu. Sires children-”

“I bet he did.”

“-first residents of Corfu. Descendent of sea god. This is why, Mrs Durrells, we love the water. All Corfu peoples. We fish, swim and sail.”

“Poseidon was a cheeky bugger...” Louisa observed, casting her gaze past him to the sea. “No wonder you’re all in such a mayhem. Gods running amok with the maidens. Is there any place in Greece untouched by scandal?”

He thought about this very seriously. “No, I do not thinks so.”

 _I am in love with him_ , Louisa heard the words inside her mind cutting through the cheerful churn of his car and the whistle of the wind. Not the sort of love that burned up in a sudden flurry or the noisy thrum of holiday romance. This was quiet, steady and all consuming. It had started at the edges – now it had a hold. Left to simmer it would easily destroy them both – his family and hers. Even knowing this, neither of them had the will to stop. Sven, Hugh and Theo were right to warn her but as her late husband was fond of saying, not everything had an answer. If she spurned Spiros now it would be ruinous to her heart.

“Spiros,” she said, shifting their conversation, “I’ve been on this island for three years and I feel I’ve hardly seen any of it. I kept myself holed up in one corner. A very pretty corner, I don’t deny but I would quite like to form a picture of the place.”

He saw that the revelation was making her unhappy. “We can fix that,” he promised. “Whenever you like, we go for drive and I take you to the other corners.”

“I cannot possibly let you do that,” she scorned, softly. “You have a business to run and, as a general rule, you should not let me take up so much of your time. There is too much heart in you. Not enough sense.”

Then he was laughing again. “My mother, she says this to me often.”

Spiros had not told her about Hugh’s offer. It was not that there was anything improper more… More that accepting responsibly for the grove sealed, with absolute certainty, that he could not travel to England with her. He had never seriously entertained the idea but he hated finality and there was nothing so final as contracts drawn up by lawyers.

“For you, Mrs Durrells, I would steal Time from Cronus.”

“You know, Spiros, I think you just might try it.”

*~*~*

The Northern point of the island curved around on itself, brutal and baking in the sun like one of Gerry’s lizards. Crowning this, the Old Fort climbed from the bowels of the Earth with bones of clay and angular walls that fronted the sea. They rose in tiers only to collapse inwards, locked by constant struggle. Its hues of silver, rust and filthy green, layered together one after the other until it towered above the landscape like the heart of a withered volcano.

Occupying a natural arm of land, the fort extended its reach into the sea with several militarised wharves. They ended in water that boasted the most alarming shade of blue, so startling that even in the greatest depths of misery it stunned invaders with unparalleled beauty.

From its birth in the year five-hundred-and-something, the fort had been built, destroyed and rebuilt countless times until it formed an imposing squabble of culture. Military installations and an organised harbour pressed on one side while the other had edges that met the sea as awkward, bulbous cliffs. These were spotted with suffering, stunted olives who dropped their fruit directly into the salt water.

Living in its shadow lay the main sprawl of Corfu Town. Unlike the village near Louisa’s house, this bordered on a city with buildings densely packed – shoulder to shoulder, towering like a stone forest. Spiros followed the main road which avoided most of the population and instead wrapped its way along the water in full view of the fort. He had been correct. The air _was_ cooler. Forceful gusts crossed the straits and smashed against Corfu, having ridden down the flanks of the opposing Albanian mountains and their snow-capped heads. They were burdened with fresh salt and a taste of fish which were dried nearby at the water’s edge.

The road itself was elevated – suspended by immense bricked walls. Louisa turned as an avenue of trees emerged on her left and immediately blocked the town from view. They were meant to be a uniform barrier, planted a century ago by the Venetians but every now and then there were three or four saplings in a row – no more than fifteen years old. The closer Louisa looked, the more obvious the scars of violence became. Soon, they were everywhere. From patches of lawn dotted with rubble to bullet holes marking street corners – painted over but refusing to be erased entirely.

Her attention shifted to the sprawling fortress ahead. This, she realised, was Spiros’ destination.

He parked diagonally onto the street behind the park. Louisa stepped out of the car and onto the rough-edged limestone pavers that looked as though they’d been laid by Alexander himself. Rising directly from them were milk-coloured buildings with white doorways capped in arches. Narrow, tall and beautifully put together, these four and five story beasts were separated by a dizzying network of alleyways. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from the open door of a small bakery whose customers sat in the shadows like bears in their caves.

“Gosh, it’s _charming_!” Louisa said, drifting toward the houses. Spiros caught her by the arm and tugged her away from the enticement.

“Not that way...”

“One look?” She begged, unsuccessfully.

“We must walk now, Mrs Durrells,” Spiros insisted, waiting while she undid the ribbon on her hat and set a playful glower on him. Ordinarily she’d have swayed him easily but his resolve held.

“There are so many people here – and all so different...”

They had to walk a little way along the street, walled in by the Italian-style townhouses. After a while, the bone-monotony wore off and they began alternating colours. Ochre. Pink. White. An unwise shade of Mediterranean blue. Most had ornate Juliet balconies with indulgent bulbs of ironwork. A few were gratified with black paint although Louisa could not decipher the untidy scrawls. Finally, they reached the entrance of the park and were able to take a short-cut through its flourish of green.

“Yes, Mrs Durrells. Many people live behind the fort. There were more, of course, when I was young. This way.” Spiros moved with the gait of a local.

Inside the park, they passed towering Lasiandras covered in jackets of purple and pink, many of which had shed over the ground. Hundreds of people circled each other, scurrying madly under the shade of the flowering trees.

They rejoined the main road at the other side of the park, which Spiros crossed briskly after waiting for noisy cars full of Greek businessmen and soldiers to pass. He seemed more concerned about the terrible quality of the cars and the unnecessary noise they made, rumbling up the street. _‘Likes tin cans!’_ he complained, on more than one occasion.

Baskets of hanging flowers softened the view, dangling from ornate lamp posts all the way along the wide pedestrian promenade that hugged the shore. Elevated, a waist high brick wall was all that kept the crowds from accidentally falling into the sea. Push-bikes joined them, weaving through the crowd. Stray dogs roamed in packs while artisans collected at the edges with sketches and jewellery made from shells laid out on mats. It did not escape her notice that there were uniformed officers everywhere – all of them heading to their respective destinations with purpose. There was considerable tension on the air and immediately, Lousia realised why he had not made any plans to bring her here before. It was a shattering of Corfu’s peaceful mirage.

*~*~*

“Margo – what is it that you are doing?” Theo asked. Medicated by coffee he felt reasonably confident in his ability to cross the jetty without falling into the water.

Margo sat on the edge, arm wrapped around the girth of a wooden pylon. “Nothing in particular,” she replied. “Watching the boats, I guess.”

“Burning to a crisp?” Theo offered.

Margo immediately looked to her arm and saw her pale skin on the edge of rose. “Oh yes. I am rather. Not enough pigs in my skin.”

 _Pigment_ , Theo mentally corrected, saying nothing aloud. He’d found it best to let her go sometimes without constant correction. She was a bright student, if only given the opportunity to learn. He was going to miss both her company and her help at the clinic – although perhaps not her strange boyfriends of which there were _many_. Indeed, Margo was quite like a spider – enticing suitors into her web before she tore their heads off and wrapped them in silk parcels.

He lowered himself down onto the jetty, letting his legs dangle over the edge like hers. There were schools of tiny fish zipping in and out of the shadows and a few larger specimens sucking at the shellfish firmly attached to the wood.

“I am not sure that Larry is the marrying type,” Margo added, undeterred by her singed hide.

“The evidence would suggest otherwise,” Theo pointed out.

“Oh – no,” she replied, in her usual dreamy way, “I know he married Nancy but – well – he always had a lot of girlfriends, didn’t he?”

“I could not say...”

“Yes you could, you just choose not to because you’re too polite but he _did_. An ‘improper amount’ my late Great-Aunt said. What happens if he changes his mind next week? Do we come back and do this all again or is there – like – an anti-party for divorce?”

“Perhaps we can be generous, Miss Margo, and give your brother a little credit in advance.”

“Isn’t it _exhausting_?” She added, knocking a stray leaf off into the water. “Being so _nice_ all the time. I try to be like you, Theo but by lunch time I want to run around the streets screaming.”

“I have had more practice, that is all.” He assured her. “And what of you, Margo. Are you leaving behind a lost love like the rest of the Durrells?”

Margo made an attempt at offence. “My Zoltan, of course!” She exclaimed. “Although perhaps you are right. If there is a war he will probably die. He’s not one for fighting – and he did get shot by accident. Twice.”

Her resolute, good-natured pessimism was absolutely endearing. Gently, he kissed the top of her head and assured her that he would miss her company most of all. “And of course, if I see Zoltan I shall place a stamp upon his forehead and send him via British post _at once_.” To which she genuinely queried the cost of posting such a large and opinionated object to England.

*~*~*

The promenade ended in an official-looking wall, fifteen feet high and guarded at regular intervals by Greek soldiers. It was strange for Louisa to realise that Spiros had no power on this part of the island. She was used to watching him saunter onto any premises and bargain his way to tyranny but faced with the edge of the fort, he did not even attempt entry. Spiros – her guardian angel – was _human_ and fallible.

“It is this way,” he said instead, leading her further around to the right where a scrappy path veered perilously toward the water, unhindered by safety barricades. There was a gap between the rock wall and the edge of the fort through which they squeezed when no one was looking.

Almost at once, Louisa thought she ought to stop him and check that this was what he meant to do. Immediately, the path took a sharp turn to the left, stealing them out of sight from prying eyes and ever so slightly further from the alarming edge.

“It is, ‘goat track’,” he explained, shuffling his frame around so that he was laying against the bare cliff face.

Louisa copied him and together they moved like crabs around the worst of the path. Any thought she’d had of looking nice for him was quickly dismissed by several layers of dirt that fell from the cliffs above in waterfalls.

“The Greek military, they are using some of the buildings inside the fort but I knows way in. Here, see?” He added, jovially, as the path evened out and they were able to walk side by side again. Spiros, of course, took the more dangerous outer flank. “The fort is very large. Many times it has been built and destroyed. The Turks – three times they warred but they never take our fort. Bastard Turks.” The pride of which had been woven into his blood at birth. He of course refused to acknowledge that the Italians had anything to do with its construction. To be perfectly fair, it was ninety percent Venetian and ten percent Greek stubbornness.

They continued down the track for some time, always under the shadow of the cliff face on their left and the boundary of endless sea on their right. In the distance, enormous mountains loomed as blue cut outs, not quite real on the other side of the water. Instead of the perfect isolation of her corner of Corfu, the fort kept a watchful eye on its hostile neighbours who had drifted closer than she’d ever imagined. There were boats cluttering the water – dozens and dozens of them floating on the surface like flocks of seagulls, bobbing up and down. The local fishermen were forced to pick their way around the newly arrived immense hulls that shuffled awkwardly in the shallow water. Aside from dirt and exposed rock, stiff grass prodded through the rocks and the odd, sad Koroneiki struggled desperately with its roots growing along the outside of the cliffs, ducking into cracks every now and then in search of purchase and water. Some of the poor things were nearly a thousand years old.

Steadily, they were heading higher. Beneath, Louisa noticed the remaining columns and slabs of a temple in the rubble. There were more buildings, completely destroyed from modern times, that lay as piles of driftwood and brick. On foot, the natural expanses of cliff were so high that they may as well have been mountains. Not even the sea eagles braved the jarring landscape. It was a barren monument but to _what_ , Louisa wasn’t sure.

“Here – this is the place.” Spiros said, as the cliff curved inwards away from them producing a piece of land large enough for an old munitions store house. It was deserted but unlike the temple its features were recognisable and its roof mostly in place. In a very strange construction, the side facing the water was made from brick but the inner wall was simply bare cliff face – a parasitic lean-to.

There was no door to hold open but Spiros managed to stride bravely forward, stick in hand and fight a spider web out of the way. Thousands of olives leaves had blown in over the years, covering the floor in a carpet that crunched beneath their feet.

Courtesy of the holes in the ceiling and walls, stepping into the old building was like ducking under inside an Indian jungle where the harsh sunlight was shattered into a million, jagged fragments. She was startled by what she found. Though it had been constructed as a warehouse for weapons, its most recent use was as a church. Affixed directly to the cliff face was a towering wooden cross. Pews assembled either side, facing the cliff while a partially collapsed alter had fallen over at the far end of the room. Its pair of ceremonial candles lay on the floor. One had smashed into oblivion and died in pieces in mimic of a marble column but the other had been salvaged by someone, righted then burned over the years. Its wax congealed down its sides and onto the leaf litter, better suiting it to a witch’s hovel. Other spent candles were scattered through the mess. The villagers had been coming here for a long time.

Spiros led her between the pews – some of which had been eaten out by dry rot and crumbled into dust. A few were perfectly solid. Silent gods slumbering in the forest. They sat down on one of the latter, dusting leaves from the surface.

“Asks me your question,” Spiros said quietly, his eyes averted from her and instead affixed on the grand cliff face. He did not look to the cross either. His thoughts resided somewhere altogether deeper.

“Tell me,” Louisa began, cautiously. Even given permission she was not sure she had the right to infringe upon his past. “What happened, all those years ago...”

The gravity of his memory was so great that it took Spiros quite some time to muster a reply. “I have not been back to this place for many years,” he admitted, “and – I have not brought anyone here. No one.”

 _Not even his wife,_ Louisa realised.

“What is it that you tells me before?” He searched his thoughts, “That Greece is very old – full of stories with heroes and gods – love and tragedy – civilisations that passed by unnotices or sank into the sea. Mostly it is war. Battle over many things. Greeks are warriors.” Despite the sadness in his voice, he rallied some warmth for his Greek strength. On reflection, they were quite British, refusing to surrender regardless of ludicrous odds. “Not always we win… Not always we know that we are supposed to be fighting.”

“Is that what happened in nineteen twenty-three?”

It was difficult for Spiros to coax the story out from his soul. There were ghosts wandering through the ruined innards of the church. Restless in his mind. He could not look at them. “Mussolini was not the first to dream of a united Mediterranean. ‘Conquered’ is better word.” This is where he wished they shared a language. How was he to explain with such in-eloquence? “There was trouble – like children push and shove – Italy and Greece played. Italy say that she want Greece. Greece say, ‘no’ - of course. Refuse those bastards. Mussolini say, ‘one day to choose’ or they come for Greece. No one thinks this is true. We are not at war.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-six,” Spiros replied. “I was here, on the other side of the fort. We came to fish from the rocks, my friends and I. This was the thing that we did most nights. And ah – we saw lights coming on the water but it was very dark. No moon. Only stars. We think Greek Navy. But then those lights rose above the water and then we saw that they were planes instead. _Hundreds_ of planes. Their drone filled the air. It grew louder and louder until the church bells rang. Shrill. Panic. Their brass was screaming.” Spiros could hear it still. “Like fools, we stood on the rocks and watched the lights come toward us. I don’t know what we thought would happen. Behind us, the streets of Corfu were going dark. People snuffed their candles. Killed the fires. Hung rugs over the windows. I remember looking up as one of the planes came overhead. _Kingfishers_. Could have touched it...”

“Spiros?” Louisa wasn’t sure if she should reach for his hand or not. There was something oddly distant about him as he spoke. This was not the Spiros she knew. It reminded Louisa of her garden – perfect black soil for feet and then nothing but brutal, unyielding white rock.

“We heard whistling, even above the church bells. Bombs were falling like Summer rain but before they struck, the rock wall where we were fishing dissolved in bullets. It was a dream. That is what it felt like. Sound – light – thought. It all compressed into nothing. We ducked as pieces of rock flew everywhere. Harmlessly, at first. We were showered in dust and bits of wood but then the pulse of heavy machine fire came at us again and cut a vast scar right across the cliff. Then the ground shook. Fire raced up into the sky. All around the bombs were hitting the fort. We were thrown to the ground and one of us into the water. That was Alexander. I found out later that he was dragged from the sea by a fishing boat and taken to the other side of the island. We should have followed him.

“Adonis was my best friend – from children. He was the first of us to come to his senses. I remember him pushing pieces of terracotta and wire off me. The barbs caught in my skin, tore my clothes but he pulled me to my feet. We had to get away from the fort but the bombs and gunfire did not stop to breathe. Night was as bright as day – fire _everywhere_. Burning the grass and trees. It found its way into one of the warehouses and exploded, tearing a gaping hole in the side of the fort. Children started shrieking. There were hundreds of women and children inside the fort. They were seeking safety on Corfu away from the Italians who wanted to give them to the German army as a gift. Jews, mostly, from Albania. They were dying. Adonis and I could _hear_ it.

“Maybe – maybe we should have gone back to the city but we climbed toward one of the gatehouses. There were guards racing everywhere, half dressed with guns shooting hopelessly at the darkness. I lost my footing. Part of the wall collapsed beside me, taking the ground with it. Adonis grabbed my arm and dragged me up. There was a young girl behind him, standing with the glow of fire at her back. I’ll never forget her face. We stared at each other – me on the ground, Adonis shouting something at me and a grey cylinder tumbling down through the light. I saw the shell hit the ground. Lay there for a second. Then I closed my eyes and thought for sure that we were all dead.”

“Jesus Christ, Spiros...” Louisa slid off the pew and knelt in front of him, both of her hands clasping his knees. “I had no idea.”

“Not a scratch on me...” He continued, hardly registering her hands take his. “The rest of the ground broke away with the force of the explosion and I went with it. I did not fall far – just enough that there was a wall of dirt between me and the explosion. Sometimes, I think I can still feel the heat – or hear a whisper of the sound in a clap of thunder.”

“And… Adonis?” She asked, knowing that he needed to finish his story.

“I found pieces of him for hours...” He replied, a tear squeezing from the corner of his eye. “Then I had to leave. Ten thousand Italians were landing on the beach – shooting and shouting. They told us that we were going to die. After all the wars that we had survived, it took thirty minutes for Corfu to fall. Greece rang her church bells for us continuously – from Rhodes to Athens but what could they do? Corfu was thunder and smoke. She had to ransom her independence back. It is an act of savagery few have forgotten. Even the operas in the square have banished Italy forever and perform only Greek tragedy. The tears shed there are surely for the friends lost. All because we drift at the entrance of the Adriatic Sea. Killed by the view, one might say. Mussolini will return, Louisa, and you cannot be here. His threats shift from whispers to battle cries. It cannot be long now.”

Louisa slipped her cotton gloves off, bundled them in her hand and used them to wipe Spiros’ tears as they came tumbling uncontrollably over his face. No matter what she did, she could not stop them. On and on until she wasn’t sure if he was crying for those terrible memories or what waited for them on the horizon. He caught her by the wrist and stared fiercely – his eyes piercing for long minutes. Defeated, she folded down onto his thighs, laying her head in his lap. He brushed his hand idly through her hair with his eyes dutifully returning to the wall.

There was no solace for either of them in the dark ribbons of slate and mud.


	7. Chapter 7

Louisa wandered through the decaying church. Vines broke through the ceiling and unfurled their brazen green arms into the drop. Sunlight struck, illuminating their supple features with unnatural life. She reached up and grazed her fingertips against one of their curled edges. It bounced away from her full of hope and vigour.

Spiros watched with her damp gloves twisting in his hands. The tears had abated but a decision tumbled inside his mind. It wavered, back and forth, unable to settle. Then she turned her head and fashioned him with a smile that struck the answer in his throat.

He rose from the pew and strode toward her, hand outstretched.

“No...” Louisa replied, softly – seeing him offer to return her gloves. “You keep them.”

Spiros tucked them into his pocket. “There is a corner of Cofu I think you have not seen,” he said, offering his arm this time. She took it, most willingly. Anything to take him away from this place of terror.

*~*~*

Louisa closed her eyes as Corfu town and its monstrous fort faded behind one of the island’s many rolling hills. They were winding through the heavily worked interior, crossing via sporadic farmhouses and lemon orchids to the other side of the island.

Spiros’ tears were dry but far from forgotten. Wisps of red remained present at the edge of his eyes and a slight, darker colour at the sides of his face where he’d tried to keep the emotion bundled in. For Louisa, she could not help but feel that the gaps between them were closing up. He had nearly all of her secrets and she was closing in on his. People were like islands with difficult cliffs facing the sea. Every now and then a beach appeared where boats could moor in the shallows. He had taken a leap of faith toward her and Louisa felt inclined to fall.

It was possible that Spiros had shown her the fort solely to encourage her to leave Corfu but that didn’t sit entirely right with her. This felt deeper. As though he was trying to share parts of himself that he kept hidden from the world. Spiros was not big on talking. His actions were what mattered – whether it was spending all week beating an old bookshelf into submission for her or sitting quietly in a relic of war.

She shifted, sliding herself deliberately across the car seat. He stirred in confusion as she laid her head against his shoulder and reached down to rest her hand on his thigh. Terror of the best kind struck him dumb. He offered no resistance, allowing her to drape against him in the most scandalous manner. God help him if he didn’t have a smile creeping onto his lips.

To distract himself, Spiros told her more far fetched stories – whatever he could remember. Some, he was sure, he had made up entirely. The only comment that she offered in reply to them was the steady stroke, back and forth, of her thumb against his leg.

They left the carefully kept groves behind to descend the rocky back of the island. The sea reappeared, this time endless and unmarred by foreign lands. The hillside turned wild. Olives, beholden to no one, grew naturally in thick tangles of silver bark and dense green foliage. They towered, easily forty feet high with both their branches and roots folded into one creature. Occasionally a cypress prodded up from the deluge, dark and imposing. They were dotted with seagulls clinging to the branches – all of which swayed in the wind.

Louisa decided that _this_ was the Corfu she intended to take with her across the ocean. These were the secret places where she planned to retreat when the English rains set in and the snows fell heavy against the window. By heavens she would need the memory of sun in the months and years to come.

Beneath the wheels, the road turned to loose gravel and dust. Its edges wearied. Wildflowers bobbed their colourful heads while vines rambled over the whole mess, looking for something to climb. She shifted down in her seat slightly, hiding from the great plumes of dirt swirling around the car. Spiros enjoyed her squirming – extending his already broad grin with one hand casually on the wheel and the other draped on his side door.

The noise of the gravel dropped suddenly as they drove under arching bowers of olives. The scattered shade killed the heat and channelled salt air onto their faces. Packed in tightly by the forest, she could not see anything except the gnarled trunks, one after the other, as the road twisted back on itself.

They reached the top of the rise and then started, rather sharply, weaving down hill. The further they drove, the closer the forest edged in on the road as if it were trying to consume both it and their car. The gravel was interrupted by bare grey slate. Boulders, made of pure white limestone, peeked out from the darkness. Some had suspiciously square edges. Others, she was sure, stared out with worn eyes and tightly curled crowns of sculpted hair.

Spiros slowed the car to crawl. There was nowhere to turn or stop. Their path was forwards. Birds startled as they passed, calling to each other on opposing sides of the road. The calls echoed right through the mountains. He had to stop entirely to allow an enormous lizard to lumber across in front of them, emerging and vanishing like a great dinosaur.

Finally, they were truly alone. Louisa shifted her hand slightly higher up his leg until the warmth of his skin through his trousers nearly ignited her hand. Whether her imagination or a trick of the light, she thought she saw the fabric tighten across his groin.

“Where are we going, Spiros?” She finally asked, her face so close to his neck that her breath whispered on his skin.

“My favourite place,” he replied, his words catching slightly under her attentions. If he was not mistaken, Louisa was casting her divinity to the wind in favour of _something else_. “Rovinia. Special place… Where the water is like the sky.”

It took all of her self control to remain still while he drove. The olive branches dipped all the way down to the car, causing them to scratch over the windscreen. Spiros held them up with his free hand while easing the car through. She helped, laughing and picking leaves from his hat. Tiny, colourful spiders plopped into the car then immediately scurried into the shadows.

“This is a jungle!” She insisted.

“You are not alarmed?”

“No. Of course not. You forget, Spiros, I have hiked through more than one jungle in India.”

“One day, you must promise to tell me these stories,” he pleaded. “I never met anyone with such adventures.”

“You may have _all_ my stories,” she promised, him faithfully. “We can drink Theo’s wine and drag tales out of shadow. Oh gosh, watch your head!” Louisa scrambled up onto her knees and leaned right across him, saving him from a branch. Another shower of leaves and a few withered olives hit them both until they dissolves into giggles.

Spiros ended up with a face full of Mrs Durrell. He reached up in amused alarm, taking her by the waist and shifting her aside far enough so that he could see where were going. It did not end well. They both collapsed into fits of amusement, happy tears eventually slipping free until neither of them could breathe or do anything useful. Spiros had to stop the car and park it so that they did not roll into the forest.

“We would never get anything done!” She grinned, wiping the edges of her eyes. “I don’t know what it is about you,” she admitted, “but you have a terrible habit of leaving me senseless.”

Spiros was awfully soft where Mrs Durrell was concerned and it showed on his kind face. He reached up with one of his vast hands, touching the side of her cheek indulgently. Normally she glanced away under his attention but this time she kept her gaze firmly fixed on his. Not wavering. Not withdrawing. He cupped her cheek, weaving his fingers into the soft curls of her dark hair, drawing her closer. Spiros was about to kiss her when a flock of screeching quails rushed at the car, bobbing their heads in an utterly mad flurry. They drew apart but not in panic.

He started the car again and she settled into seat. The road evened out and soon they came across an artificial clearing. It wasn’t much – a small area big enough for three or four cars – tediously overgrown with saplings climbing up from the ground already.

Parked, Spiros hesitated. Then, with renewed determination, he shuffled his wedding ring from his finger and set it upon the dashboard.

Louisa stared at it – stunned. She could not tell if her heart was racing or had stopped entirely. Without explanation, he reached across her lap for her hand and did the same with her wedding ring. Definitely, the sensation of the gold slipping along her skin under his pull was nearly enough to knock her down. She couldn’t breathe. _Clink._ It sat beside his. All the weight of sorrow, responsibility, reluctance, guilt and regret – it was left there.

“L-l-let me guess...” Louisa barely managed to speak, “Now we must walk?”

He was still holding her hand as he replied. “Yes, we walk now.”

*~*~*

The forested track continued on toward the sea. Louisa could hear the relentless lap of waves and howl of wind against the shore but the view remained obscured by the thick jungle of wild olive trees. They walked it together, hands entwined. Her heart raced so loudly in her chest that she was certain Spiros must be able to hear it – or maybe his own drowned it out. Either way, they refused to let go of each other no matter how awkward the walk.

Finally, the trees broke and a sapphire expanse unravelled.

“ _Oh_ Spiros!” Louisa exhaled, pausing at the brink of a limestone cliff. They were twenty feet above the water, suspended at the edge of undulating cliffs. These were softer than the other side of the island – white, cream and grey. In the sun, they were as pristine as marble. Directly beneath lay a beach of fine pebbles, small and round enough that they looked like sand. On the left hand side, vast caves yawned over the water with ominous depths and stunning chasms of stone. The water was so clear that it was impossible to find the surface. Gulls sitting on the surface appeared to float in the air, suspended by nothing.

Completely abandoned.

“Is this what you meant by ‘corners’?” He asked, delighted by her amazement.

“This isn’t a ‘corner’, Spiros, this is a completely new world.”

“Please, we go this way...” He said, startling her by sitting down and shuffling off the side of the cliff.

At first glance there didn’t seem to be a way down the cliff face but once she copied him and slid over the edge after Spiros, she spotted the ludicrous track worn by lovers and explorers over the centuries. The only thing holding the hopeful back from the fall was the occasional well placed rock or a few mummified tree roots forming natural handles in the dirt. The conspiratorial Greek gods helped to keep them aloft, favouring mischief.

Always, Spiros remained in front of her – waiting with his arms outstretched to catch her in the difficult parts. She willingly shuffled toward him, throwing abandon to the sea. Finally, her shoes reached the millions of pebbles carpeting the beach and sank in at the heels. If possible, it was _more_ remarkable from below. The white cliffs _embraced_ the beach while the water inched towards them. There were other fragments of Corfu a short distance across the water but these violent rises of white rock were equally remote – an entire breathless city of stone torn apart and left as magnificent scrap.

Louisa bent down and unhooked her shoes – discarding them near the cliff. Spiros did the same then stooped to roll his trouser legs up to his knees. If possible, the casual manner of his dress endeared him further to her. Every piece of him was a celebration of life on the island. His skin – tanned from drinking in the sun – more so on his arms and face. Spiros’ eyes were as dark as late harvest olives while his limbs were full and reassuring. She caught herself staring and his look in reply – playfully questioning.

He had not called her, ‘Mrs Durrells’ since they left the fort. She wondered if that was deliberate – another line in the sand that he’d left on the dashboard...

“Come – we must go quickly – the ground is hot.” Spiros broke her from a trance.

He was right, the ground _was_ hot. They raced each other to the edge of the water, hitting the shallows with splashing and laughter. Looser at the tide line, their feet sank into the pebbles. They stood in ankle deep water. Waves, half a foot high, rolled up against them, so gentle that they did not break. The water was oddly soft against her skin. She looked down at their entwined hands. Hers, so tiny in his.

Spiros noticed where her attention lay. He stepped to face her before lifting their joined hands all the way up to his lips. Then, carefully, he placed a lingering kiss upon her knuckles in some form of worship.

“Louisa...” He whispered against her skin, daring to speak her name. “There is one more thing I should not say.”

“Please – say it anyway...” She needed to hear it, even if it was only once. Even if it was only ever uttered _here_ with the waves and the gods.

“I did not know love until you.” Spiros had experienced his share of warmth and affection. Genuine care and companionship. That had been enough, as was water for a man that had never tasted wine. Louisa… She was his awakening into life. Suddenly he understood why the poets lay aloof mocking the stars and tragic fools spurned entire empires for a moment of joy. Honour could demand all manner of thing from him but it could _never_ command his heart to turn. “These things, maybe, they are not for us to have,” Spiros continued, “but I cannot stop myself from wanting them. For hoping, foolishly of course, that you might want them too.”

“Did you think I followed you down the side of a cliff to walk in the sea?” Louisa whispered, in reply. She took a step closer, pressing their bodies together while he kept hold of her hand. “Don’t you know that I wait for you – every morning, I wait… When you do not come I panic and think you may never come again. That all we shared were smiles and fleeting fictions, fanned by perilous hope. I have lost count of how many lectures I gave myself where your smiles were concerned. The resolve I built during the day unravels with the night. I dream of you. Things I – I cannot possibly say...” At least Louisa had the good grace to blush.

He was both startled and emboldened by her confession. “I think you and I – we have the same dreams...”

His voice rolled along the air and directly through her soul. She trembled. Her nerve wavering. The want of him threatened to crush her entirely. “Are they only dreams?”

There was only one reply worthy of her question. Spiros lifted Louisa her from the beach, draping her across his strong frame like Poseidon emerging from the sea. Her arms wrapped instinctively around his neck, holding on tight as he walked, her fingertips playing with the soft hair at the base of his neck. Spiros followed the curve of the beach a short way until they stepped into the shadow of the sea cave. There was something terribly erotic about being carried in his arms. She wasn’t sure if it was the subtle flex of his muscles against her skin or the overwhelming scent of _Spiros_ that suddenly filled her senses.

Inside the cave the lap of water echoed into a constant rumble. Water swirled through hidden passages and swished against dead ends before the tide dragged everything back out to the _chink chink chink_ of pebbles rolling helplessly over each other. It was an ethereal place – their own private nook away from the eyes of the world. Here they were finally free.

Spiros allowed Louisa to slide slowly from his arms, setting her back onto her feet in the shallow water. Her arms she kept around his neck and used them, almost immediately, to draw him closer. Their foreheads touched first and there Louisa paused. She needed the first move to come from him this time. For Spiros to take the first step into oblivion.

He took it without question – tilting his head to the side so that he could lean into her lips and devour all remaining reason.

Open mouthed and desperate, she found herself slipping further from reality. They fought for the first time – but in silence. Each of them trying to overwhelm the other. It was Spiros that broke first, tilting his head to the side to trail a clumsy line of kisses across her cheek and down her neck to which she could only moan. He tugged at her dress where it covered her shoulder – impeding his attentions. Her response was to step out of his grasp, backing away under his hedonistic gaze until her back hit the uneven cave wall. The rock was cold at her shoulders but she didn’t care one toss as she reached up to unbutton the top of her dress for him. Spiros did not move, instead choosing to watch while Louisa finished with the buttons and unhooked her green belt, sliding it from her waist. She held it out at arm’s length and then let it splash into the water. The current carried it off to the side where it caught in one of the cave’s dead ends, bobbing in the water against the stone.

That drew Spiros closer. Upon reaching Louisa, he chose to kneel in the water at her feet – lift his hands up to her waist and continue to unpick the remaining buttons buried in the crumpled fabric. She licked her lips indulgently in reply to his silent attentions, laying one hand on his shoulder to steady herself while the other she used to stroke his face in soft encouragement. The buttons trailed all the way to the bottom of the dress and when the last one fell victim to his hands, he shifted beneath her and pushed both sides of the fabric open.

The rush of cool air against her skin made her buck softly. Every time she glanced at his eyes drinking her in with such obvious passion she thought she might gasp his name. When Spiros pressed his lips to her naked stomach, Louisa did just that. His name whispered from her lips and her hand curled tightly in his hair – both holding him close and tearing him away. Her own treacherous hands slid his maroon suspenders off his shoulders then tugged haphazardly at the buttons on his pale blue shirt. They came free under her attentions – though not in the right order and in her haste to tear the garment off him, at least one unravelled and fell into the water. Neither of them cared as the shirt was shuffled from his shoulders and tossed into at their feet.

Due to the heat, he hadn’t worn a singlet today. Louisa ran her palms over his shoulders and onto his chest, through some of the black hair that covered his skin and down where she could feel a hint of his ribs against the muscle. _No wonder he is strong_ , she thought. He was strongly built and only slightly softened by a little too much wine.

“Handsome?” Spiros asked, in obvious mocking of his earlier insistence in her kitchen.

Instead of a frivolous reply, Louisa leaned into his body and stole his lips in a heady kiss that nearly undid him before they got started. In the fray, her dress fell away and her bra slackened against her chest. Another victim to their passion.

Fumbling, her hands worked on his belt but it was a constant battle against his kisses which assaulted her senses. It was only after they forced themselves to separate and shed their remaining clothes with a scantly held moment of control, that they were finally able free themselves of the last scraps of decency holding back their lust.

This time, when they came together, there was nothing careful or hesitant. His hands went straight to her waist, helping to lift her body while her legs wrapped around his hips. They tangled hopelessly together – her back against the cave and his feet in the swirling water.

Her lips broke away from his in a heated gasp as he finally took her. Louisa mumbled his name then groaned it, her head falling to the side with the curl of pleasure taking over her body.

Nails dug into his shoulders. Louisa’s thighs squeezed his waist while her heels pressed into his back. All of it drove him deeper into her until he lost himself in her embrace. There, in the depths of the cave, where shadows and light chased each other over the restless waters, they rocked together. Where once he could not say her name, now he rambled it, over and over – against her ear or smothered by her lips.

When she clutched around him with a choked moan, he cried out in reply and together they fell as a twisted mess into the water. The splash woke them from the madness. Spiros lay on his back with Louisa still riding the last few moments of passion before she tossed her head back in ecstasy. His hands settled on her hips, keeping her steady despite the water running over his stomach, shoulders and chest.

“Louisa...” He said gently, trying to catch her attention.

She opened her eyes and canted forward, silencing whatever he was going to say in another kiss. There they writhed in the water like nymphs, uncaring until the chill of the water finally cooled their passion.

“This – is insane…” Louisa whispered, when the pair of them were seated in the water, her head against his chest. Their clothes washed around them, caught on the rocks. “We’ve lost our minds.”

“Most willingly,” he assured her.

_Most willingly indeed_ , she agreed, at the feel of him softening against her thigh. Louisa shifted in his arms, just far enough so that she could look up into his eyes. “In case I forgot to mention,” she said, one hand delicately tracing his jaw, “I am terribly in love with you.”


	8. Chapter 8

H ours later, their clothes had been fished from the water and laid on the beach to dry. Dressed only in their underwear, Spiros and Louisa spent their time swimming in the bay – ducking beneath the surface in valiant attempts to reach the bottom. Alas, the water was far deeper than it appeared and neither of them were able to touch the ominous collections of stone sitting  amid the sand and weed .  The ruins of  _something_ , Louisa was sure.  He tried to explain them away with another one of his stories but Louisa simply splashed him in the face – provoking a chase that ended with them kissing indulgently in the shallows.

“I will have three orphan children if we do not return soon,” she lamented, laying on the beach beside him. There was a fresh band of shade courtesy of the cliffs and sinking sun which they stretched out on. The ground was warm against her back as she lifted her arms, inspecting them. There were tiny cuts and grazes all over from their lovemaking in the cave – all of which were stinging from the salt water. She didn’t care.

Spiros filled the air with a long, drawn out sigh. “I forgot to say, Mrs Durrells… From here we must swim.”

Her hand slapped his chest playfully, both for the use of her married name and for the cheek of his suggestion.

* ~*~*

L ouisa shivered during the drive back. Her clothes, which had never quite managed to dry, picked all the chill out of the air. When Spiros noticed, he reached for his jacket, handing it to her  with a stupid grin as it swamped her figure.

It took them several hours to navigate their way through the  trails and scattered villages. Finally, Louisa saw the  bank of cypress that lined the road into their quaint town. By then, the sun was only a memory on the horizon – a slightly fainter hue of navy and several crimson clouds.

Spiros parked in the driveway outside her house. The building was lit by half a dozen lanterns and a roaring bonfire built in the pit beside the patio. Leslie had set up some kind of unwise cooking contraption of his own making beside the flame and affixed large fish to it. Margo lay on a picnic rug – sunglasses in her hair from hours earlier and a discarded book beside her head. Gerry and Roger sat transfixed by Theo, whose glasses were halfway down his nose in excitement  while he read from a new exploratory journal that had arrived by post this morning.

Lu garetzia,  bless her wonderful soul, was stooped over the outside table putting together a backup meal in case Leslie’s experimentation with hunting and gathering ended poorly.

L ouisa looked up to Spiros and smiled warmly. He dipped down and kissed her forehead – lips lingering, warm and tender . Neither of them cared if they were spotted in the half-light.

“Would you like to come in?” She asked, very nearly kissing him again.

“Probably best that I do not,” he replied, with great reluctance. His instinct was to fuss with bits of his car – avoiding her eyes.

“Not even while I fix _this_?” Louisa poked his chest gently where a stray thread marked the absence of a button. Spiros muttered something in Greek. “I thought as much.  Come on. If you’re lucky, Leslie might manage to cook something that won’t kill either of us.”

A lthough everybody noticed them wandering down the narrow, white gravel path nobody drew undue attention. Leslie nodded. Theo’s gaze drifted in their direction between breaths. Roger pushed himself up onto his haunches  with a whine  and Margo lofted both her eyebrows. Louisa, who was still wearing Spiros’ coat, led him into the kitchen and sat him down in his usual chair  where he immediately reached out to lean one arm o n the table . She was waiting for reality to crash  i nto her  at full force . For common sense and brutal truth to knock her over but it never came. Spiros sat obediently in the chair and she brought over a sewing kit, setting herself beside him.

“They _know_...” Spiros observed, as Louisa dug through her old tin for a suitable button,  nudging a ludicrous collection of mismatched items aside with her fingertip.

“Not quite. They _suspect_ ,” she replied, quite unconcerned. “If you knew what I had survived from my four children you’d agree that it is my turn for an indiscretion. Ah. This will have to do...” She held up a similar clear button for him to inspect.

“What is this – _indiscretion_?” He asked, holding the button as instructed.  Spiros placed it beside one of his existing buttons. It was too large, of course, with two holes instead of three.

“ _You_ , Spiros,” Louisa assured him, taking the button off him. “A most _wonderful_ one.” The taste of him on her lips was such a distraction that it took her four goes to thread the needle. He leaned back in the chair while she  gathered the fabric and sewed the button onto his shirt, her silver needle diving in and out of the pale blue cotton. An unbiased eye would notice her barely passable work but Spiros was entirely blind to her faults.

“It is quiet here, no?”

“Mmm,” she agreed, “without Larry. It will take the others a while to fill the gap with chaos. Please, don’t wish mayhem on me any sooner. A little quiet is a joy – or are you blessed with a pair of silent children?”

“No, not at all,” Spiros replied, shaking his head with a parents’ burden. “My children are loudest in the village. I hear them when I am driving. They scrap and fight with the others, even my girl. She throws shoes at the boys. Why you smile at this?”

“They are boisterous and full of life, like you.”

“Spiros is not loud,” he defended, of himself. He was such a terrible liar, even when he meant to tell the truth. The last stitch went into the button. Her hand pressed against his stomach as she held the fabric in place and gave the thread a sharp _tug_ , snapping it. “Thank you.”

“You really shouldn’t,” she assured him, packing her things away. “I never had a talent for fixing things. If you want anything sewn on properly, you are better to go and beg Theo. He tailors his own suits and does an admirable job of it. Please, Spiros...” She warned him gently. “Really, you mustn’t look at me like that when we’re here...”

“It is only,” his voice dropped conspiratorially, “you are wearing my jacket.”

Louisa looked down to see that he was perfectly correct – back up to his endless eyes – and then she leaned forward until her head rested against his chest in defeat.  Warm and firm. His heart stumbling against her cheek.

At first  Spiros thought that she was sobbing but a moment later he realised  it was muffled laughter .  They were, of course, the most useless sleuths in all of history. Their secret love had barely survived a scant few hours before it was discovered. Indeed, Louisa suspected it had been ‘discovered’ by her children  long before she had known  it herself.

Eventually, Louisa turned her head to the side, absently stroking her free hand down his bare arm and said, “That explains the knowing looks my children shot in my direction as we walked in.”

S piros kissed the top of her head and wrapped both his arms around her – warm and steady.  At the moment, he simply like to hold her. If it were all he could do for the rest of his life, he’d be happy.

“ _God_!” Leslie hovered at the open kitchen door. “I have to go find Larry _immediately_. He owes me four pounds!  Brilliant!”

They broke apart casually only for Louisa to stand and turn on her child. “Did you and Larry  take out a  _bet_ on your own  _mother_ ?”  She asked, very seriously.

“No. Of _course_ not!” Leslie replied,  utterly horrified at the suggestion. “We _all_ had a bet on you.  Even Theo. You can ask him.”

She shook her head in utter admonishment  at her bewildering children. “I do not wish to know.”

Leslie raised his hands in surrender. “I only came in to invite you both to dinner. The fish is ready. Caught it myself. Experimental method, you see. It’s going to really  _catch on_ .” Then he grinned ridiculously broadly, inviting them to follow his pun. “ No – no you see, that was a play on words – Larry’s been t-”

“ _Out_!” Louisa shooed her child from the kitchen. “Oh, don’t you start, Spiros...” She muttered, catching his face fill with a smile. He was impossible.  This was a predicament he should not be enjoying but every time she looked across to him, Spiros was revelling in their situation. Indeed, she had never seen him happier. Bloody Greeks!

“You ah-” Leslie unwisely poked his head back into the kitchen, “-wouldn’t know the time that you two-”

“GET OUT!” Louisa tossed the dish cloth at her impertinent child.

* ~*~*

The fish was – well it didn’t kill anyone. For Leslie that was a step in the right direction. Spiros found Larry’s old guitar and couldn’t be stopped from singing melancholy songs by the fire. Margo attempted to teach him English ballads instead but the results were mixed – mostly because Margo’s musical abilities could kindly be described as, ‘challenging’ while Spiros’ English was more ‘approximate’ than ‘faithful’. Gerry eventually sat with them to help leaving Louisa and Theo on the other side of the fire, staring at the warring flames and shower of cinders that lived short, violent lives in the darkness before spiralling to Earth as ash.

“No words of caution?” She asked him, filling his glass of wine from a bottle they were sharing.

Theo swirled the crimson liquid around in his glass – if only so that he could pick the tiny flies out of it. They were drawn to the sugar and took every opportunity to plunge headlong into certain death. “Would these wise words do any good?” He replied,  flicking a bug from between his fingers.  His head had not quite recovered from the wedding  and issued a warning throb of pain to his temple, which he ignored.

Every now and then Louisa caught a glimpse of Spiros between the flames. “None at all...”

“I suspected as much,” Theo admitted. He did not need to ask what had happened. The change between her and Spiros was clear enough for anyone to see – including Spiros’ wife, he imagined, should he ever make it home. “Love has no care for sense,” he continued. “A cursory study of the animal kingdom reveals that we are not alone in this struggle. We are complex beings torn between what we want, what we need and what we must ultimately do.”

Louisa took that as her cue to drink deeply of her glass. “Do not worry,” she assured him, the night pressing down on the fire. “I am well aware of the future. I can feel it spreading through me – cutting pieces away. When I  step onto that ferry , as I must, I cannot tell you how much of me will be left for the rest I plan to leave in Corfu.  But – I will leave, Theo. As you have all told me I must do.”

Theo set his glass down then made Louisa do the same with hers. Then he took her hand and waited until she was able to drag her gaze away from the fire and look to him instead. “This is something you must not tell Spiros,” he advised her. “While you are away, I promise that I will keep an eye on him. With everything in my  regrettably limited  power, I’ll keep him and his family safe.”

“And what about _you_ , Theo? War is not place for a man of science. What shall you do?”

“The same thing as everyone else,” he assured her. “What I must. I have only one question, which of course, you may not answer.”

Louisa squeezed his hand gently. “Go on...”

“When peace comes and all is well, years from now-”

“- _yes_...” Louisa answered, before he could finish. “Theo, you shall know the war is over when you see me on the horizon.”

“And… And is that fair to Spiros?” Theo knew that he was going to test her patience but he had to know. “To farewell you and return to his wife with the shadow of your return at the back of his mind? I have seen lesser things destroy people. _Far_ lesser things.”  When she did not reply, Theo continued. “And you… Louisa?”

She shook her head in helplessness.

“He has two young children. Be careful, Louisa. Love is overwhelming but when the shine wears off, he may resent you for the things he has lost.”

This time she dipped forward, holding her head in her hands. Theo rubbed her back gently. He  _hated_ doing this but the pair of them were hurtling toward calamity.

“You are strong,” Theo insisted, leaning closer with his words whispering. “He is not. That poor man – he’d sail off the edge of the world if you asked him. You must know this… We men are mad fools for love.”

Spiros watched Theo and Louisa through the flames. His fingers missed a few notes on the guitar when he saw her cry into her hands. This, he suspected, was a mirror of the conversation Theo tried to have with him at the  wedding .  He wondered if it would prove as pointless to her ears as it did to his.

“Here, take your wine,” Theo leaned down and retrieved her glass. There were bugs in it already, fluttering around on the surface which he took the care to remove.

“I made Margo tell me about your little bet...” Louisa added, a little while later after her tears had dried. All the colour drained from Theo’s face – caught guilty as sin.

“...Louisa I...”

She brushed him off with an amused smile. “I just wanted to let you know that  _you_ won, not Leslie – but don’t tell him that.  He’s going through a bit of a rough patch at the moment so we can afford him a victory or two.”

“I understand,” Theo replied, feeling as though he’d sidestepped her temper. “Are you still planning on having this famous farewell party I’ve heard so much about?”

“Yes, I suppose I must. It is expected.”

“Most excellent. I shall bring a few friends – do not fear, I swear that they are all of the human variety.”

Aside from polite words, Louisa and Spiros did not speak again that night. He drove off into the darkness and she staggered around the dying coals of the fire,  collecting empty bottles and possessions that might not survive the night outside.  Spiros’ hat she found bewilderingly between Roger’s paws.  It was mercifully un-chewed but the dog did kee n sadly as it was taken .  When that was done, she wandered around the house extinguishing lamps.  There were no less than  _three_ pelicans waddling  down the hallway – one of which was completely wild . She didn’t have the will to do anything about their intrusion so she wished them, ‘good evening’ and carried the last lamp upstairs.

S afely inside her room, Louisa set the lamp on the table  followed by Spiros’ hat then slumped onto the bed. She stared down at her hand and the gold ring that bound her flesh. It felt different now that it had been removed  by him . Grazing her fingertips over the slender curve of metal, she worried it for so long that it eventually slid off her finger entirely.  She held it to the lamp light and twisted it around, watching the shine shift.  When her husband  died , Louisa thought that she would drown beneath the grief. There was no point trying to pretend that she did not love him. She did – honestly and for a long time after his death. The heart had a way of healing and, after a tide of tears, he had faded.

Which brought her to Spiros... He lingered at the edge of every thought. His smiles were behind her gaze. There was barely a day that went by on Corfu in which she didn’t wonder where he was or how he was doing. The mad taxi driver with his gaping smile and booming voice  that climbed above every crowd .  He had adopted her into his life from nearly the first moment of their arrival and now she doubted the deed could be undone.

She closed her eyes. Louisa could feel him inside her and this time it wasn’t a fantasy. Those lines were crossed. There were grazes over her back from the cave wall and the scent of him on her skin. She remembered his kisses – the gentle and the passionate  then caught herself in a moan.

*~*~*

It was shy of eleven when Spiros parked his taxi in the street outside his house. The sky, faultless as ever, was broken by the trees growing wild in the garden behind  or forcing themselves through the stone footpath . From the street, everything was orderly. A modest abode, it had all the charm of its neighbours with only a hint of erosion where water nibbled at the windowsill.  It was the culmination of a thousand repairs. A patchwork house held together with sweat and persistence.

Warm light ebbed from the covered windows. Spiros looked for his hat but it was nowhere to be seen. Giving in, he entered the house and was stopped immediately by his wife  who stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest and a sharp look in her eyes.  Her hair was held up by pins and her figure was draped in a floral dressing gown. Clearly, she had been waiting for him to return for some time.

“Please, I am tired...” He said, in Greek, attempting to sidestep her or at least close the front door.

Her fury had no intention of allowing him to pass.  For her part, she didn’t care if they did this here or outside in the street. Their life was a public show as it was.  “ Where have you been all day?” She asked. As Spiros opened his mouth, she cut him off. “With  the  English woman. I know. The  _whole village_ knows, Spiros. It was one thing to drive these people around when they were paying you  a reasonable wage but you haven’t asked anything from them in  over  a year.  You  _give_ them money.” But even that frustrated her. “ If only it were  _charity_ . There would be some grace in that  at least . This is – is...” She couldn’t even bring herself to say what was so obvious in every breath he took. “ Tonight, you sleep somewhere else. Not here. I cannot bear it.”

Spiros tried to protest but his heart wasn’t in it. What reasonable objection could he present? There was nothing untrue in her words. Another woman might have screamed him out into the street but he could tell she was deliberately keeping things quiet for the sake of the children.

“Go...” She kept insisting. “Sleep in your car if you must but – go. You have to. I – I can’t have you here, Spiros, while ever you’re doing – well – whatever it is you’re _doing_ with her.”

The door closed firmly in his face and Spiros found himself staring at the deserted road. His first instinct was to return to Louisa but then he’d have to tell her that he was without a home. She’d be required by her own  good nature to take him in and the last thing he wanted from Louisa was  _pity_ . Theo was in the process of moving and it would be unfair to arrive at the Whitehouse when it was currently serving as a guest house to the lingering members of the wedding party.

He wandered  over to his car,  dragged open the door to a sad  _creak_ and sat inside it, not yet stirring the engine to life. Unless he fancied sleeping in his car, there was really only one place he could go.

*~*~*

“Spiros…?” Asked Hugh, opening the door to the extremely tired Greek.

Spiros dragged his feet on his way into the house. “Good evening, Mr Hughs,” he replied, quite defeated by the world.  “I am sorrys about how late this is.”

Hugh waved the apology off  and closed the door. “I am as you see me – alone and embroiled in a thrilling match of chess – against  _myself_ .” The board was set on the side table in the living room  with a bottle of wine beside the on the floor. “ Come – sit. You look as though you could do with a glass of something yourself.”

Spiros sat himself down in one of the armchairs and stared at the empty fireplace,  _numb_ . He didn’t know what to think so he decided not to think anything at all. Blankly, he set his head in his hands.  _Clink_ . A glass was set beside him, followed by his own bottle of wine. Unlabelled. Home bottled.

“There are plenty of spare rooms,” Hugh added, settling himself down after a lingering stare at his chess match. “If I am correct in assuming that you intend to stay the night?”

Spiros nodded. “Thank yous...” He replied, so ashamed that he could barely lift his head and certainly not look Hugh in the eye.

“I have only one question,” Hugh continued, mulling his bottle over. It was three-quarters empty. “It is obvious what has happened to you, Spiros, I’d have to be a fool not to guess. That being said, isn’t there somewhere _else_ that you should have driven? If I had the choice between my company a nd Louisa’s, I can easily guess which I’d have chosen.”

“I cannot ever go there...” Spiros replied, dismally. “How can I go there when I am disgraced?”

“That’s embarrassment talking,” Hugh assured him, “it will wear off. Spiros, your wife along with everyone else who lives around here know exactly what you’ve been up to. Whatever delusion you and Louisa were indulging in, it certainly didn’t escape gossip. Your wife, in particular, is not stupid. Women have a nose for this sort of thing. She probably sensed danger long before you realised you were sweet on the lovely Mrs Durrells. My point is...” Hugh leaned across the gap between them, attempting to drag Spiros out of his abject misery, “...your wife threw _you_ out, she did not run away to Athens this time. I don’t think she intended you to sleep on the street – or in my spare room. I am certain she meant for you to return to Louisa.”

Spiros  returned his head in his hands. Honestly, he was a fool. What had he expected? That his wife would turn a blind eye for the Louisa’s last weeks? That once she’d sailed away for England he could return to his marriage for the duration of the war? It seemed ridiculous now but in his head, it had sounded perfectly reasonable. Of  _course_ his wife would not tolerate such a thing and if he was being honest with himself, he knew that there was no way that he’d be able to feign love between them any more – not now that he knew how Louisa trembled beneath him or tasted on his lips. His heart simply wasn’t in it.

“Then she intends to divorce me,” Spiros replied. “To send me to Louisa is proof and grounds for a divorce.”

“I am sorry to say it, Spiros but that is likely her intention.”

Spiros wished he had his hat with him. His hands were left with nothing to wrap themselves around  except his own head. Instead, he sat there fussing awkwardly. “What – what do I do, Mr Hughs?”

Hugh sighed patiently. “I have never had much luck where women are concerned  as you have had the pleasure of observing first hand . I love those that do not love me and I am loved by complete nutcases. It is not a good test case. You, Spiros, I dare say that you have had the love of two good women  in your life .”

“But – but what should I _do_?” He repeated uselessly.

“The same thing you always do, Spiros, the _right_ thing. You say to me that Louisa must leave but that you love her. Also, that there is a war coming and you need to protect your wife and children. Tell your _wife_ these things, let her decide what she wishes to do. The woman gave you two children, you owe her the opportunity to choose in calm rather than haste – in daylight...”

Spiros was jealous of the  composure Hugh managed to maintain. Perhaps it was simply practice from all the trouble he’d had in the past. “Louisa...” He breathed, as if the word had to be torn from him.

“Spiros, you must sort things through with your wife first.”

* ~*~*

He spent a lonely night in Hugh’s house, staring at the wall with nightmares rushing through his mind. For the first time in  very l ong while he thought about the early  years of his marriage. His wife’s innocent smiles and the moments they’d stolen. Then her fear at the discovery of her pregnancy and  subsequent  hasty marriage.  The savage truth nearly struck him over. Even then – in the depths of his happy marriage, he had never loved her like he had Louisa.  What he felt strongest for his wife was  _duty_ .

H is children, though. He loved his children. To leave his  wife was one thing but the thought of not seeing them gripped him with fear. The second revelation shook him so hard that Spiros sat up in his bed.  _He’d spurn Louisa to stay with his children._ He’d cast his heart off into the fire for them. It made him weep.

Hugh heard Spiros’ sob over the thrum of cicadas.


	9. Chapter 9

Louisa set Spiros’ hat on the kitchen bench.  Her fingers brushed over its worn surface – the folds of frayed fabric and the smears of dust woven into its soul . It was a part of him an d so she treated it with reverence  even though it looked as though it had lived through several thousand years  of strife.  _It probably has_ , Louisa reminded herself, for when was Spiros not bending the ear of some poor official or bargaining his way down to a pittance?  There was never a moment on the island that his booming voice didn’t lift above the crowd or the sad  _thrums_ of his guitar compete with the scratching needs of the cypress.  He was part of the noise.

T hree of her children filed through  the kitchen in search of  breakfast, snatching burnt pieces of toast  from the rack . Theo was last  in  and Louisa blinked at  his appearance in surprise.  His tie hung undone around his neck while his jacket hung over his arm, impossibly crumpled.

“Where did you stay?” She asked, having assumed that Spiros would have driven him home last night.

“Larry’s room,” Theo replied, buttering his toast before slathering it an unidentified jam. His ordinarily picky eating habits were tempered by a bad head. “It smells very strongly of smoke and drink.”

“The writer’s stain...” Louisa agreed. “You will become familiar with it in your new living arrangement.”

“Yes, I fear I shall,” Theo admitted. “I must go into town and continue packing up my things. There is an official from Athens due to let it next week and they have threatened an early inspection. It is best not to have glass jars full of scorpions on display when they arrive. Not everyone is as understanding as you, Louisa, when it comes to the creatures of the Earth.”

Louisa could not fault his logic there.  “ In fairness, Gerry has rather broken me in on the matter of animal acceptance.” She poured him a cup of tea and slid it across the table toward him. “ Spiros can drop you off.  He will be here soon,”  she insisted,  fully expecting him to  swing by and take her on another exploratory drive of the island.  He  _had_ promised and Spiros always kept his promises, no matter how absurd. He’d once promised Gerry goldfish then gone and nicked them from the royal ponds. There was no limit to sense when it came to his honour.

Theo did not look so sure but nodded pleasantly and bid her a good morning then went to find himself a sunny spot to lay down. That is how things were in the mornings at the Durrell’s – a variety of slovenly creatures occupying rocks around the house. Louisa often wondered if she’d been saddled with a sub-human species. Lugaretzia agreed, muttering unkind things in Greek as she washed down the kitchen bench and made a start on a fresh batch of bread rolls. Her rambling continued as she picked up the taxi driver’s hat and moved it to a more suitable spot on the coat rack. What she _really_ thought of pieces of Spiros being left around the house was anyone’s gues s.

L ouisa  stole away upstairs and cycled through three  options before she settled on her pale yellow sun dress. She trimmed a few loose threads from its hem and rescued her white cardigan from the chair.  This time she had the good sense to pack a basket with  a blanket in case Spiros found another beach  then added a bottle of wine so that they didn’t find themselves looking longingly at the sea, wondering if they could drink it.  When she was finished, there was nothing to do but wait outside in the sun with everyone else and try, rather unsuccessfully, not to look too anxious.

T heo waited as long as he dared. He suspected rather than knew for certain that Spiros might not be coming by The Durrell’ s house today. As twenty minutes turned into an hour, his guess  became a certainty. One that, frankly, he didn’t want to explain to Louisa.  “I must be off now, Louisa,” Theo said pleasantly, dipping his head and lifting his hand in a wave as he headed for the road on foot.

“I am sure it’ll only be a few more minutes,” Louisa insisted, sitting on her picnic basket with a book clasped in her lap.

“All the same,” Theo replied, “I must make a go of it. Gerry – are you coming?” He called vaguely toward a nearby hedge. A moment later Gerry emerged, holding some kind of creature with Roger barking excitedly at his heels.

The three of them scurried off, ignoring a few parting protests.  It was a long way back to town and the sun was pressing through patches of cloud, melting them away.

“Are mother and Spiros fighting?” Gerry asked, as they scrambled up the steep dirt road. Theo had found himself a stick and used it to prod the uneven ground as they walked, leaning on it every now and then when his knee gave a twinge in the wrong direction. Gerry had tied a simple rope leash around Roger to stop him chasing pigeons. Generally, he was a well behaved animal but there was something enticing about the grey and white flutters by the side of the road, diving in and out of the hedge that he could not resist. All he wanted in the whole world was to sink his teeth into them but Gerry wouldn’t let him.

“Fighting? No...” Theo assured the young boy. “I do not believe Spiros knows _how_ to fight with your mother. These things are complicated.”

“I am not stupid...” Gerry thrashed the encroaching bush with his hand. It wasn’t easy always being thought of as a child with older brothers and sisters. He was absolutely certain that he understood the world better than all three of them put together.

“No,” Theo replied patiently, “but you are young and unmarred by the terrible burden of responsibility. Philosophers the world over lament that youth sees with clarity where age can only worry.”

R oger  meanwhile,  thought only with his nose, tugging sharply on the rope as he tried to snap at a few stray birds. Gerry gave it a firm  yank in reply. “ Is it like my animals…?” Gerry asked, more  thoughtful than before. “I  had to set them free so that they  could be safe . Spiros must also set my mother free?”

T heo paused in the middle of the dust and unyielding sun. “You are perfectly correct,” he admitted. “And I apologise for assuming your age had any bearing on your most sound logic.”  He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Mind you, your mother may surprise us both.  She is not one to conform to reason.  Her heart is- ”  Theo watched Roger growl desperately at the pigeons, “- determined.”

* ~*~*

T he evening announced itself with  Lu garetzia  shuffling from the kitchen, wiping flour off her apron. She dragged an old chair across the stone to a protest of screeching rock before collapsing into it with a sheen of sweat sticking her grey hair to her face. Louisa sat beside her, perched on her picnic basket. She’d set the book aside in frustration long ago and instead stared out into the horizon, counting ships as they crossed the  edge.

“Very quiet today,” Lugaretzia said, lazing in the cool air.

The sun had set behind the hills but not the Earth. Dusk left the world a luxurious, soft place. Pink and gold clouds lay twisted across the horizon, tugged into expressive  features.  _The eyebrows of the gods_ , Theo had  once  said, and now Louisa could not observe them without amusement.

“Less children – better,” Lugaretzia continued, fanning herself with her hand. “Four is too many.”

Louisa’s thoughts were elsewhere. These days, she found that she did not mind her rabble of children because they distracted from other thoughts.  W ith them gone to ground she was left to  ponder Spiros and wonder why he had not come  to see her today. Her fears twisted cruelly in her mind. Despite his protestations, perhaps he regretted what they had done… Maybe it was a step too far for his honour.  A ll the risk sat with him. He was married – she was a widow. Her children were mostly grown – his were young.  If his wife had presented him with an ultimatum  there was no contest…

S he glanced towards  Lu garetzia  and  wondered if she had faced similar dilemmas .  Despite her fawned propriety, she often voice truths that could only come from hard won battles. How to ask, though? Surely the sharp-eyed woman knew already.

“You must wait...” Lugaretzia spoke, before Louisa found the courage to speak. Neither of them clarified further, there was no need.

And so that is what Louisa did. She waited.

*~*~*

“These are for you,” Louisa arrived on Sven’s door early the next morning with a basket of bread and a small block of butter. “Lugaretzia’s means of a, ‘thank you’ for the delivery of milk. You best be careful or she’ll become quite fond of you. Fresh produce cuts straight through her stone heart.”

Sven grinned, wiping grease from his hands onto a rag as he stood in the doorway. It was not possible for him to look more peasantry. “Won’t you come in?”

She nodded and stepped around h is filthy figure before searching for a clear piece of kitchen bench to set the basket down. There wasn’t one, so she placed it on the floor. “ You are pulling the house apart!”

“I am,” he agreed, eyeing the mess. “I have never taken the trouble to go through this place properly. You would not believe the things I have found. Part of me thinks perhaps it was home to great criminals.” Sven meant it only _half_ jokingly. “ One day I find buried treasure under the barn. Run away to Africa – live as king.”

Louisa grinned madly. “I can never tell when you are joking.”

“Always,” came his easy answer. “Did you walk here?” He added carefully.

“What makes you say that?”

“Spiros is in Athens...”

W ell  _that_ answered her unasked question. “Ah...” She breathed, trying not to betray too much surprise.

“He left yesterday. The streets are sullen and quiet without his taxi breaching the peace. I’m sorry...”

“What for?” Louisa feigned disinterest. It did not work very well with Sven. “Why should I mind where Spiros is?”

Sven shook his head. This snappish-detachment was new to Louisa. “You mind for the same reason that _I mind_ when Viggo is in Switzerland with a countess.”

T here was a long silence before Louisa managed  to find a reply . “Has he left me, Sven?  Did he run away to a different city just to be rid of me?  Honestly – he need not have bothered…”  She was perfectly capable of taking a hint. One word from Spiros and she’d have let him be,  heartbroken or not.

“That is quite unlikely,” he assured her, wandering across the kitchen.

“But you haven’t spoken to him...”

“No. I have not.”

A sliver of a tear spilled from the corner of her eye. She dashed it immediately. “ Then you are guessing.”

“And you are imagining things that may not have happened,” Sven cautioned her.

“I imagine a lot of things lately,” Louisa admitted quietly, resting against the dishevelled kitchen bench where there was a truly bewildering array of junk. “Like Spiros returning home and taking his wife to bed-” she stopped herself with a hand over her mouth. “That is a terrible thing to say,” she added, pulling herself together despite a full tear sliding onto her cheek. The shame did not stop her seeing it when she closed her eyes. “Forget that I said that. And don’t _tell_ anyone that I said that. God, what must people think of me? ” _Home wrecker_. That’s what they whispered in Greek, incorrectly assuming that she didn’t understand.

Sven took her firmly by the shoulders and shook her from the thought. “ Louisa –  _stop_ .”

“ _How_?”

Sven reached up and cupped her face in his filthy hands. “I do not know,” he admitted, “but you have to.”  Her tears rolled over his fingers. He felt his heart flinch.  There was nothing he could do but take a step closer and draw her against his chest. Louisa’s hands raced up the front of his shirt and fisted the fabric, gripping onto Sven.

“You’re right – you’re right...” Louisa pulled back and wiped her face. She took several deep breaths and nodded, drawing her sense back together. “It’s only been a couple of days. What am I thinking?”

“That’s right.” Sven agreed. “Only a few days. Oh – dear...” His face softened in a smile. “You’ve got – ah...” Well _grease_ , all over her face. He tried to rub it off but all he did was smudge it into her tears. “Now you look like me.”

“I always thought that you looked rather good,” she assured him, to which Sven averted his eyes shyly. “Fear not, I am not propositioning you.” Now he blushed and Louisa found her tears replaced by smiles. “Of course I should have married _you_ ,” she added. “I’d have far less trouble.”

T here was a fleeting moment in Sven’s eyes that suggested he’d spent serious time meditating on the idea. “ As you told the policemen, I am a poorly goat farmer.”

“That’s true...” Louisa bit her lip playfully. “No good at all. However would I fund my extravagant lifestyle?”

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Why?”

“It is what you English do, yes? Tea to fix all problems.”

“A cup of tea would be _lovely_ , Sven.”

L ouisa spent the day planting potatoes in the terraced slopes around Sven’s house. The earth was soft and black, lightened with lime dug up from the hills. It was so rich that strings of hopeful weeds were already tasting the edges. She tugged them out and tossed them in the small fire he’d lit on which he was busy burning the more dubious items extracted from his house.  The smoke lazed through the trees, pressed down by the light wind. It was sharp against her nose, laced with chemicals.

“Oh no – not those,” Louisa sprung up and raced over, snatching the priceless oil painting from his shaking hands. The image of a naked young man adorned the shadowy brush strokes as if it were obscured by the same haze of smoke hassling them. “You love these.”

“If anyone found them in my house, it would not be good. I’ve already been brought before the police once, Louisa. I doubt your ruse will work a second time.”

“And if the painting was found in _my_ possession?”

“They are – ah – not suitable for-”

“Oh tosh! Give them here...” Louisa relieved him of the others. “And the rest. Go on. The photographs and the sheets of music. Anything you’d rather not submit to the flames. I’ll pack them away and take the whole lot to London. When the war is finished, it’ll give you an excuse to drop by.”

Sven probably should have protested her generous offer more firmly but he truly didn’t want to destroy the things that tied him to his true heart. There were only fragments of his love and setting them to flame felt like surrender,  so he did as Louisa asked and put them in an old crate.

W hen the time came to let go of them, Sven lingered with his hands on the box.

“I’ll take care of them as if they were my own,” she promised. “No one will find them tucked away in an English garage, of that you can be sure.”

“This is all I have of him,” Sven admitted. “They’re only things but-”

“There are no, ‘buts’ about it,” Louisa assured him. “Memories matter and ‘things’ can hold those memories for us.”

Sven was about to say,  _‘is that why you still wear your ring?’_ but as he glanced down to her hand he noticed that it was gone. He tried to recover – looking anywhere except her hands but he wasn’t fast enough. “It is none of my business...” He assured her, when she didn’t say anything.

“My husband is dead,” Louisa said firmly, for her own benefit. “I carry him in my children but not – not...”

“As I said,” Sven repeated, “it is _none_ of my business, or anyone else’s. You do not owe the world an explanation.”

* ~*~*

They fell into a habit during the days that followed. Louisa would show up at Sven’s house with some form of food, whether it be lemons from their grove or something  Lu garetzia  toiled over, then they’d spend the day shovelling dirt or tying vines. It was calming – helping things grow. It was almost possible to forget that the world  rested on a knife edge when they were half way up a tree, pruning limbs  or coaxing a goat out of the tomato patch.  Occasionally the distant thunder of  a  demolition test shook the air but they laughed it off as a storm  even though the skies had been clear for months.

H ugh heard where she was and dropped by with several bottles of olive oil. They made him stay to and help drag an old tree stump out of a new field  with his car  and soon they were sitting on the ground amid the weeds and insects, sweating and laughing about the foolishness of the past.

“I will give you a lift home,” Hugh insisted, now that the sun had tipped toward the mountains. His sleeves were rolled up almost to his shoulders revealing fresh, dark tan lines.

They were all absolutely filthy and exhausted,  particularly Sven who had tumbled onto his back with his arms out like some kind of badly neglected angel .  Louisa offered no resistance  to Hugh’s offer , nodding in reply.

“Come on then,” he added, the first to stand. He reached down and fished her from the ground with a firm tug. She came with a helping of grass and leaves. Indeed, they were so unbecoming that it felt like a crime, sitting in his beautiful car. “Oh don’t worry,” Hugh insisted. “This old girl has seen her share of filth. No...” He amended, when her giggles rose over the sound of the engine. “I mean of course the dust. It is everywhere. Nothing but unsealed roads and chalk. All through the engine. To tell you the truth I don’t know how Spiros has kept his taxi running for so many years. It takes me all my time to keep this one ticking over.”

Louisa quietened at the mention of  _his_ name. No one had seen or heard anything of the famous Spiros for over a week. “Do you know where he is, Hugh?”

“Athens,” Hugh replied, almost too quickly.

“Everyone says that.”

“Then it must be true.”

So why did the answer sit hollow and false on their lips? Louisa had the distinct feeling that everyone was lying to her. Like a child,  they thought they were protecting her –  believing that a white lie was better when actually it drove her  _mad_ .  No matter  _what_ the truth was, she’d rather hear it. “ Unfortunately for you, Hugh,” Louisa added, as they drove along. “I know when you’re holding back. You know something about Spiros’  disappearance and now you’re going to tell me  exactly what it is .”

H is hands clenched around the wheel. “I don’t know half as much as you imagine...” He tried to insist.

“ _Tell me_ ,” she hissed firmly, in her best threatening tone. It worked on her children and it seemed to be working on him.

“I can only tell you what I have guessed.”

“That will have to do.”

“Spiros’ lawyer is in Athens. If he had decided to cast you aside there would be no reason for him to leave Corfu. Taking those two things together, I can only assume that he is deciding what to do about his marriage. Or his _wife_ is deciding, as it may ultimately be up to her.  She comes from a good family. She could take everything from him unless Spiros is particularly careful. That’s all I know.”

_Careful_ wasn’t an adjective common ly associated  with  Spiros.  “I never meant for so much trouble… How can one too many smiles turn into  _this_ ?” She asked, absently.

“There’s only one question that matters, Louisa,” Hugh replied, glancing over at her. “Do you love him? No point asking. I know the answer better than most men. If you love Spiros then you must trust him.”

“I do… I only wish he’d told me what he was up to before he went and left. Hugh...” She added, “I never properly apologised for – well, for _us_. Leading you astray was not my intention. I’m _still_ mortified about-”

“Everything worked out exactly how it was meant to and I _am_ happy.”

* ~*~*

Louisa kept faith in Spiros for two more weeks. In the meantime she’d helped poor Theo cart the last of his possessions down to the Whitehouse  using Hugh’s car  where  they’d set up a zoo of sorts – one for insects and other horrible things  that he and Gerry collected in the surrounding area . They lined several rooms in the sprawling building and she loved to linger in them, wandering from jar to jar to star e inside at their contents. Perhaps it was a morbid fascination but she couldn’t stop herself sneaking a look  in between endless hours of cleaning . She liked the Stick Insects most of all with their vast array of shapes and colours.  It was easy to tell which labels had been written by her youngest child on account of the glaring spelling errors.  If only Theo would use some of his vast talent to impart a few basic writing  skills though it was  unsurprising that the only words Gerry managed to spell correctly were the biological ones.

“And really, you are not having this party?” Theo asked dismayed, as she held one of the enormous trunks open while he unpacked.

“No. I don’t think so,” she replied, coughing through the dust. This room was the most decrepit of them all – a scandalously small box at the back of the house with one lonely window placed far too high on the wall to be useful. Its glass was cracked and the wind whistled through it all night making an ungodly squeal. “I’m not really feeling up to a party.”

“Oh but you _must_ ,” Theo insisted, wiping each object with a rag before placing it on a shelf that wrapped around the entire room. There was an overwhelming stench of turpentine coming off it. “The children are so looking forward to a bit of fun. Margo in particular, I think she has invited the whole village.”

“Then my children may host the party themselves if they wish. I’ll not stop them. Did you manage to let your house out?” She changed the subject before Theo could embarrass himself.

“Yes – yes, thank you. It is all done and I am moved in here full time. As you see.”

“I can see that _you_ are here, Theo but I do wonder what has become of my eldest son. I’ve not seen  Larry in a week. Don’t tell me that he is in Athens too...”

“No. He has gone sailing with his wife and some of her friends. They will be back although I could not guess when.”

“I wish I could say that I was surprised but Larry has been aloof from the moment he was born. As soon as he could toddle I’d find him wandering off into the jungle, bloody fearless. It’s a miracle he survived.” Louisa paused, suddenly feeling quite sick. The heat, smell and thick dust in the air wasn’t doing her any favours.

“Perhaps we should stop for a while,” Theo said, taking the last container from her. They abandoned the upper levels for the clear water and rickety jetty. It was hot outside but not as oppressive as it had been. “I would very much like to visit India,” he added, handing her a glass of water. “In fact, I am quite jealous that you lived there for so long.”

“You would like India,” she admitted. “There are plenty of creatures to fill your jars. One might say that the place is swarming with life – not all of it friendly. Even where my husband and I were staying, it was not uncommon to hear of nearby villagers being dragged off in the night and eaten. It is quite wild, you see. Part of its appeal, my husband used to say. He was born to British parents but lived there all his life.”

“You don’t strike me as one of the ladies in the papers, sitting in grand houses, drinking tea beneath umbrellas at the edge of the wilderness.”

“No. That wasn’t me – at least, not unless I was required to partake because of my husband’s work functions. I spent most of my time teaching English in the village near our house – even when I was pregnant with Larry then again with Leslie.” She flinched. “Leslie made me quite ill though. Take my advice, never plan on being nine months pregnant during an Indian summer. It is utter murder. At least the heat in Greece is dry. Humidity is the killer. You drown before you burn.” Louisa looked toward the water with a lopsided smile on her lips. “I still dream of the Himalayas,” she confessed. “There was something altogether fierce about them. Honest. Brutal… They struck down those that thought themselves brave enough to climb them. All year they shift and grind together, making India tremble. It was one of my husband’s greatest challenges as an engineer – coping with the great beasts of the earth flexing and breathing beneath his beloved railway.”

“I know these mountains of which you speak...” Theo confessed. “When I say, ‘visit India’ what I mean to say is _return_. I was born there myself.” He could tell by Louisa’s expression that she was stunned by his confession. “Though I left when I was very young – eleven – my father retired our family to Corfu,  much as you have done with Master Gerry.”

L ouisa looked at Theo with fresh eyes.  _No wonder_ he had such a fondness for Gerry. Their childhoods were parallels. “Do you remember much of India?”

“Enough to know that I hope to return. My parents were Greek – so I cannot claim any connection to that wonderful country except that it held stage to my birth.”

“All of my children were born in India,” Louisa confirmed. “If my husband had not fallen ill, we never would have moved to England. It was impossible, you see, for me to stay there on my own. The family insisted. It was not the done thing for a widowed woman to live abroad.”

“And… so you moved to Corfu. Naturally.”

Louisa nodded, raising her glass of water to whichever gods were listening.

More and more, Theo wished that he could change his advice to Louisa – beg that she stay here with them on the island, come whatever may. He daren’t.  Theo had fought one war  already . Felt the weight of a rifle on his shoulder and the sound of deafening gunfire.  He knew exactly what it was like to scour sparse fields, ducking bullets and wading through the mess of death.  Paradise could become hell at a moment’s notice. On Corfu, there would be nowhere to run. If a foreign army took possession of them it would become a prison cell so he kept his mouth shut and his smiles warm.  It was better that  Louisa not know these things about him.  He was very fond of the narrative she believed.  Maybe that’s all men were in the end – collections of stories that people remembered, whether they were true or not.

“You are a great friend, Theo...” Louisa added, softly. “I hate to fathom how much trouble my family has caused you in these short years. Heavens, you are practically raising most of my children.”

“This is my pleasure,” he assured her. “I will do my best with Larry but in this I can make no promises.”

She dropped her head back in a deep laugh. “ _No one_ could help  my Larry. Whatever he  is going to become, he  is well on his way to becoming it.”

“Stay here tonight,” Theo added, after they had laughed and chatted away the afternoon. “It is late and there is no Spiros to whisk you safely home. The house is empty and I am certain that I can find you a room without insects – or a room with them, if you prefer.”

“Do you have cards, Theo?”

“Cards – yes. Cards of all sorts.”

Louisa mulled the temptation around in her mind and decided that chances for levity would grow fewer and fewer. “Why not… It is impossible to disgrace myself further. Though I do hope you’ll be offering more than water.”

*~*~*

“This girl – you like her?” Louisa slurred from her position on the floor, surrounded by cards, empty glasses and tassled cushions. They were both, well, there was no polite way to say _drunk_.  Worse off than a pair of sailors. At some point they’d kicked their shoes off, done away with the tables in the most Bohemian of moods and ransacked the liquor cabinet.

“Like her – yes – I marry her one day...” Theo said, of Mary, a women he’d known scarcely two weeks. “Hopefully soon. Tomorrow – tomorrow I ask her, ‘will you marry me’ and she will say-”

“ _Who the hell are you?_ By the sounds of it, Theo!” Louisa teased him. “ Honestly _men_. You think we can read your minds but how are we to know what chaos bumps around in there?”

T heo was quite determined in his affection and began constructing fragments of poetry which he dribbled into the air between excessively poor hands of cards.  His curiosity got the better of him eventually. He leaned forward, dropping several cards out of his hand as he asked, “Is it true – you and Spiros – did you...”

He was a worse gossiper than a woman. “Oh  _yes_ ,” Louisa unwisely confirmed, before she had the chance to think. Vodka was the worst poison. She’d have to have a word with Larry for keeping so much of it in his house. Completely reckless. He was partly responsible for the mess she found herself in! “ Frightfully true...”

Theo gasped. “I mean we all  _guessed_ that you were very fond of each other but...”

“Wild abandon is refreshing.”

“You shall make me blush.” Theo complained.

“Is my lack of virtue a disappointment?”

“On the contrary, it rather adds to your charms. I am certain Spiros thinks so. He was the most ardent defender of your honour until he took it. Evidently.”

L ouisa chewed on her lip simply  _thinking_ of what she had Spiros had done – and then had to remind herself that she shouldn’t be sharing  _any_ of that with Theo. As soon as she’d made that promise to herself, he leaned in and queried even more secrets from her until she distracted him with a winning hand.

“Sven… Hugh?”

“Oh _no_...” Now she was properly blushing. “No _wonder_ the entire village disapproves of me. When you list out men it does all sound rather like a bad French novel.”

“My name is there too,” he cautioned her – to which they both stared intently at one another for a moment before dissolving in fresh waves of laughter. Louisa had to wipe her eyes, she’d laughed so hard. Eventually, they laid down together in the mess of pillows and cards that they’d created. They faced each other with the lanterns almost out of oil. Their flames flickered wildly before stumbling into calm. Theo took her hand and squeezed it gently. “That isn’t us,” he promised her. “I hope you do not mind, Louisa, but I am your _friend_.”

S he shuffled a little closer. Neither of them had any intention of moving for the rest of the night. “You are  _wonderful_ ,” she replied. “ And I wish you all the luck in the world, Theo. Do you hear me? All the happiness you can find.”


	10. Chapter 10

Three weeks after Spiros’ vanishing  act , Louisa finally relinquished her stance and allowed her children to host an immense farewell party on the premises.  There was a list of provisos of which she’d be happy if at least  _two_ were kept namely, don’t burn the house down or drown anyone in the bay.  The rest were more like requests of varying attainment.  _Keep intimate behaviour to a minimum_ was more a wish than a hope while  _no gambling_ had been put there as a helpful suggestion.  In the end, Louisa fully intended to leave her children to deal with any and all consequences they managed to unlock.  She wanted to say that it was part of the responsibility of growing up but actually it was exhaustion on her part. If the only thing they learned out of the whole affair was to be less destructive, she’d be happy.  Lu garetzia  thought the whole thing utterly mad and reminded Louisa of it every time she entered the room,  aggressively re-tying her apron.

With most of their belongings boxed and posted to England in advance of th eir departure, the house had  returned to the depressing, cavernous wreck they’d walked into three years ago.  Suddenly the peeling paint, lopsided cornices, missing doors, scuffed floors, dented walls and broken windows became the dominant features.  Louisa frowned,  eyeing the badly patched ceiling  that had fallen in on her twice and honestly wondered if they’d made any difference at all to the survival of the building. Then she noticed Spiros’ handy work on the kitchen shelves and the repaired front door – the rebuilt drainpipes and the plastering job he’d terrified a few of his building friends into finishing one afternoon.  They’d all drunk sherry afterwards and fallen asleep on the lawn. Actually, everywhere she looked Louisa found another trace of Spiros. He’d been spending what must have amounted to  _all_ of his free time patching up her collapsing house.

S he trawled back through her memories and was rather shocked to discover that  _yes_ , actually she struggled to think of more than two days strung together in which Spiros hadn’t been part of her life.  When they went for a picnic in the hills, it was Spiros that drove them there and cooked their lunch. A casual afternoon wandering the forest for mushrooms – Spiros was their guide. Lazing about the house on a Sunday – Spiros again, tinkering with whatever needed fixing. He was there for tea in the morning and  the last to leave after a late  evening drink. In fact, now that she thought about, Spiros did everything except sleep in the spare bedroom. Even that he had done on the odd occasion if the weather was poorly or he’d had a bit too much to drink (usually her children’s fault).

T he only surprising thing about this revelation was that his wife hadn’t thrown him out sooner.

Her mind quickly sank into the memory of Spiros’ luxurious eyes and talented mouth. She had to catch herself with a sharp shake of the head or risk staring into nowhere for the rest of the day, such was his hold over her.  Louisa pressed the back of her hand to her cheek and was horrified to find a warm flourish there. Christ, she was a schoolgirl again – weak at the knees  and over  _what_ , exactly?

_This is where your children get it from_ , she reminded herself unkindly, before wandering around the house unlatching windows and opening doors. It was an attempt to air the place out which unhappily resulted in half of Corfu’s wildlife moving _in_. Frankly, she blamed Gerry for that turn of events. If he hadn’t dedicated his life to befriending all manner of feather and fin, they’d stand half a chance. As it was, he had practically sent out invitations to turn the Durrell house into a rainforest. Honestly, she didn’t know why they’d bothered with cages for so long. It was clear the damn things were perfectly happy living here of their own volition.

The house filled with shouts of, _‘mum!’ ‘mum!’ ‘mum!’_ as various children filed in demanding things until finally a lazy, _‘afternoon mother’_ brought up the rear when Larry strolled across the kitchen, sun-kissed and lounging against every surface. He had mastered the art of turning idleness into an activity – extremely popular with intellectuals the world over. Not so much with Louisa.

“Oh _do_ try and make yourself useful, Larry,” she  drawled impatiently, nudging him off the kitchen bench where he was interfering with the cooking preparations. He was holding an enormous hat and carrying the world’s smallest bag. That, in a nutshell, outlined her son’s priorities.

“Useful _how_?” He quipped in reply, genuinely bemused. “You’ve got everyone fussing  quite well so I thought I might go into town for a bit.”

“You’ll do not such thing!” She insisted. “Bag down, hat off – go and help Leslie bring in the chairs.”

Larry backed out of the house and eyed the army of enslaved workers his mother had setting up the party. There was one obvious face missing from the crowd.  Larry spun around a few times before he asked, “Wherever is Spiros?  _Ow_ !” He screeched, as  Lu garetzia  came out of nowhere and slapped around the stomach.

“You go – get chairs.” Lugaretzia’s eyes were comparable to the keeper of hell, so Larry went without protest.

* ~*~*

A  _party_ it certainly was. Everything that could make light converged on the house and was hung from hooks, overhead beams,  tied to walls with bits of string – really anything that would suffice. If nothing was found, lanterns and candles were set on the ground  to form a forest of light as if a  great  swarm of glow worms had descended upon them – or a carpet of stars. The house was so bright that as sunset came it created it own reflection on the water.  A warm, inviting beacon of survival  while the real glow worms kept to themselves, dangling in their usual haunt beneath the dying cypress that had shed yet more branches onto the beach below.

M argo, however, Louisa had decided she was going to kill as a tide of young men flooded the courtyard, all calling her name.  They were slightly different versions of the same thing – young, foreign, olive-skinned and clutching flowers. Sven certainly noticed, as he arrived with a cart of food. He rolled his eyes at the rabble and Louisa laughed.

“Is that an accordion?” Louisa asked, leaning around his shoulder to take a peek at the cart.

“No – no – of course not...” He lied, winking playfully. “Are those suitors for you or your most lovely daughter?”

“Oh – _bugger off_...” She tutted him away.

Larry’s wife made quite the spectacle, arriving via boat with a party of mismatched youth, deep in the throes of drunken revelry. Singing foreign tunes, they cheered as Nancy departed the boat like some kind of deity then followed. Her flowing skirt and off the shoulder wrap dragged slightly in the water, kicked over the edge of the jetty and into the bay which lapped along the high tide mark. Louisa noticed her bottle of discarded cooking sherry clutched between a pair of white rocks – stuck between the land and the sea.

“I sense an air of disapproval,” Theo noted, wandering over with his arms full of blankets. There were pieces of burning cloth thrown into the water. Their flames struggled in the waves, lighting their velvet pitch. They’d not last long when the wash dashed them across the rocks but for a brief time they lived violently and beautifully.

“Oh – no indeed.” Louisa insisted. “More power to Nancy, if she wants all those creatures crowding around her for the duration of the night. The appeal of it will wear off. Empty smiles become dull as the years roll on.”

“I hope that is true,” Theo replied, leaning on his pile of rugs, “for there is more than one man here on your account.” Then he nodded at the sprawl of people wandering down the road toward the house with baskets in hand.

“Don’t you start,” she insisted, playfully. “I am getting on in this world, as you very well know. Now – where is this future wife of yours? Hmm? Does she know your name yet?”

“My name – yes. My intention?” A glint crossed his adoring eyes.

This time  Louisa really did slap him on the shoulder  for his cheek. “You are turning into one of  _them_ you know,” she added, nodding in the direction of her children. “This doesn’t bode well, Theo. I am used to you being the pillar of reason and dignity.  If that is not you – whomever shall it be?”

Theo gave her a knowing look which she shook off and bid him go and put the blankets somewhere useful. A few hours later Louisa really did start to worry that perhaps the  _entire_ island of Corfu was  en-route to her house. It wasn’t that she minded guests – or a party, generally speaking, it was that the one person she desperately wanted there was missing and the hole he left in proceedings widened with every unknown face that arrived.  It got to the point where she started glancing nervously over her shoulder  at the crunch of gravel under tyres  but s he never heard the jolly toot of his horn, or his joyous,  _‘Mrs Durrells!’_

“Are you all right, mother?” Gerry asked, wandering up with a green snake wrapped around his neck. Its colouring was slightly iridescent, shimmering with momentary flares of purple and gold. 

Louisa should have been concerned, as a parent, but it was far from the worst thing she’d seen Gerry take a fondness to. In fact, this particular reptile seemed content lounging on his shoulders with its pink tongue flicking out into the air every now and then. “ Does this one have a name?”

“Not yet. I’ve tried not to give them names.” He admitted. “At least, not the ones that I have to let go in a few days.” Gerry stroked its narrow, green scales. He’d found it behind the vegetable patch wall sunning itself earlier. “Are we _really_ leaving?”

She nodded. “Yes, Gerry.”

“I don’t want to go to boarding school,” he said, sitting down beside his mother. The snake encroached a few inches closer to Louisa but Gerry simply shifted his hands and guided it back onto his arm. “Won’t it be terribly dull?”

“More than likely,” she admitted to her child. “But – well, look at this way.” Louisa shuffled around to face Gerry. He honestly was a small thing. Indeed, she was confident one of the pelicans was larger than him. A runt, by any stretch. “If you want to help your animals out there in the world, you have to improve your education. You’ve heard Theo read from his great journals – all the adventures and missions that he and his colleagues go on – if you want to share any of your own exploits, literacy will come in useful. And mathematics. That’s very important in your study of sustainable populations of flamingos – or – or whatever those other things you were counting last week.” She ran her hand tenderly through her child’s hair, dislodging twigs and bits of leaf. “It’s very likely that you’ll hate school but _use_ it to do what you love.  The whole world will be at war and you’ll be there, safe and learning something to put the pieces back together when all the shooting stops. You might even meet people who can help you in the future. Do you understand? Do you _promise_ that you’ll do this thing for me?”

G erry nodded, even though he looked  downcast . “The worst of it is, Theo agrees with you. He says that if I  finish school he’ll take me on an expedition  to India when the war is over.  I want to go back there... ”

“Well there now, you see? That is something to look forward to.”

“It’s strange,” he added, “all of us are going in different directions.”

“That is what happens to families,” Louisa admitted, sadly. “It is like your eagles. They have to make their own way in the world. That’s how they make new families.”

“Actually, I’m more worried about Margo...”

They both laughed. Louisa shook her head. “I think people worry unduly about my Margo. Of all of us, she adapts the fastest. She thrives, like a weed in the garden but a very beautiful one.”

“Mum?”

“Yes, dear.”

“I’m not certain but perhaps you shouldn’t refer to your children as weeds. Or strays. Or-”

“Yes – all right, you’ve made your point, honey. Go on, take your snake and run along.”

Conversations like _that_ only added to the body of work that suggested she’d never win, ‘mother of the year’.

*~*~*

Louisa could not fault the weather, the company or the music that flowed from one side of the house to the other. There were at least a hundred people pressed up against the walls or scattered through the gardens. As darkness fell, their number became shadows crossing the halos of lantern light.

Feeling slightly disconnected from their revelry, Louisa took a seat on the stone wall with her back to the bay, nursing a cup of dreadful kumquat liqueur that she hadn’t touched.

This was – a crossroads…

Louisa had the strongest sense that two entirely different futures awaited – each within her grasp. Her heart beat faster. Neither was safe and neither was certain but what in the world was? It was not so long ago that she had been _certain_ that her days lay in India. That she would live and die in foothills with a rabble of children and half-cast grandchildren draped in coloured flowers. The only point of certainty that she had left was that she shouldn’t think _here_ , in the haze of Corfu’s fondest moments.

She set her glass down on the wall and slid off the edge, back onto the pavement. Possessed by a longing for solitude, Louisa wandered off toward the road and followed it _down._ It meandered around the edge of the bay for a while, ducking in and out of wild cypress before twisting up again, climbing steeply through the uneven hills. Lit by the moon, Louisa ignored her quickening breath. Steadily, the white cliffs emerged. The moonlight rendered them silver and the Ionian Sea – black. It was a road she’d travelled many times and the comfort of each curve beckoned her further.

It took the better part of an hour but Louisa finally emerged on the precipice where she and Spiro often sat contemplating the world. The old tree trunk was still there – abandoned like a piece of bone. She wandered over to the twisted bark but couldn’t bring herself to sit down without his jacket laid over the surface for her. It felt as though _he_ were sitting there – as he often did. The memory of him looming. Instead, she stepped closer to the edge of the cliff and looked toward Athens. It was not visible in the day but at night there was a faint glow on the horizon. Another step closer to the edge and she was met by the cool brush of wind. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him on the other side of the water, his gaze set towards Corfu with a heart as heavy as hers. Did he think of her? In these long weeks… Were they staring into the same endless stretch of cavernous sea...

There were no tears this time. Louisa steeled herself against fear. Against fate. Against anything else that tried to come after her. It was time for her to make a choice – for her family. If she was truly going to say goodbye to Spiros, this was as close as she could get to holding his hands and whispering his name.

“...Louisa...”

Her eyes snapped open. Slowly, she turned her head and saw Sven a few metres away, his hands outstretched and panic spread across his face. White as a ghost, he leaned forward. Shaking, he said her name again. Soft. Cooing to her as you might an animal.

Louisa was confused by his terror until she looked down and saw the toes of her shoes balanced over the crumbling edge of the cliff. Somehow, she had come right up to the precipice. “Sven...” Her voice trembled, suddenly frightened.

He closed the distance between the at once – grabbing the back of her dress roughly in his hand before dragging her backwards a few feet. Then he wrapped his other arm around her waist and lifted her away. A safe distance from the edge, Sven dipped his face down to her shoulder and shook his head in disbelief. He was sweating from the panic. Only then did Louisa realise that he had cried all over her dress.

“I thought – I thought – the woman from the bar… My stupid story.” He mumbled, unable to let go of her. “When I saw you steal away I followed. Louisa – what are you doing...”

Of course… The grief stricken artist who’d tossed herself into the sea when the anguish got too much. That wasn’t Louisa. She had always been more a fool than a forlorn cause. “I did not mean to get so close to the edge,” she insisted, allowing him to fold her into his arms. She made no effort to escape him. “I came here looking for – well… Athens. I am sure that I can see it,” she added, managing to turn her head slightly to glance at the water, “the glow on the horizon. Unless I imagining things. I am sure that’s where he pointed, last time we were here...” But her gaze dropped to the edge and the mark in the dirt where she had stood, only moments ago.

“Don’t ever – _ever_ do that again,” he insisted, desperately. “You scare me to death, Louisa.” All Sven did was hold her.

A  long while later, he managed to coax her  to the road  which they walked together . There was absolutely no chance that Sven was going to let her out of his sight after  a  fright like that.  He was crushing her hand but Louisa dared not ask him to stop. The poor man was shaking harder than her. “The ferry leaves in two days.”

“And you are determined yes, that you will be on it?”

Louisa nodded. “Of course. I must – mustn’t I? I only wish that he had been here – to – to say  _goodbye_ . That might have been worse… I’m not sure I could get on that ferry if  Spiros was standing on the pier. Perhaps he knows this too… Maybe – maybe that is the reason he has gone.”

“War doesn’t last forever, Louisa,” Sven promised her.

“I know,” she assured him, leaning into Sven a little as they walked. “If anything happens and – well, I’ve got something I’d like you to tell Spiros. Will you promise to do this for me?”

* ~*~*

“Ah – there you are, mother.” Larry said, stumbling toward her and Sven. Sven broke away and returned to the party, leaving Larry with his mother. “You all right? Actually – is Sven all right...” Larry amended.

Louisa nodded and retrieved her glass from earlier. Remarkably it was unharmed. “ What happened to your face?” She asked, lofting an eyebrow at the comedic moustache drawn under his nose.

“Oh _that_. We’re calling it, ‘Gerry’s revenge’. He attacked me with a stick of Leslie’s charcoal. I rather find it makes me quite dashin g so the joke’s on him.” Larry was quiet for a moment before he added. “It is going to be strange, you know, being without you. You’re not going to be down the road you’ll be on an entirely different continent.”

She rubbed her son’s back gently. “Somehow I think you’ll manage,” she assured him. “Besides, there are plenty of people here that are looking out for you and – well, you have a beautiful wife. You mustn’t forget that – oh – and you need to look after her, you understand? No gallivanting off into oblivion without notice. It’s  high  time you learned a little responsibility but I dare say it’ ll come to you the hard way.”

“What about you – are _you_ going to be okay?” Larry replied. “The rest of my siblings might be blind but I noticed.” He held up his mother’s hand and drew attention to the lack of ring. “If that means what I think it means, there’s going to be a broken heart or two left on the island when you go.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she dragged her hand away. That wasn’t quite true. Louisa _couldn’t_ talk about Spiros.  She had learned in these past three years that it was possible to love somebody so much it hurt to breathe with their image in her mind.

Larry was definitely worried about her but there wasn’t anything to be done so he did the only thing he could think of and dragged her reluctantly into the party.

M argo – who had been in tears only moments earlier because her beloved Zoltan had not arrived, was now dancing in Theo’s safe arms. Louisa noticed that he had attracted the attention of an extremely beautiful dark-haired woman sitting on the outskirts of the room. Mary, she presumed.

Hugh had finally been given the opportunity to sit down and fuss around with an  accordion while Sven looked happy just to be sitting down clutching his drink.

“All right – _all right_ , you can stop fussing.” She insisted. “I’ve got a drink and now I’m going to find someone to dance with. Go on – shoo...” And that is how Louisa spent her last night on Corfu – dancing with everyone she could find, drinking – singing (all be it poorly) and generally throwing herself entirely to the wind in what would go down as one of the greatest parties anyone could remember.

*~*~*

H ugh  agreed to drive Louisa and her family down to the pier  with  his car  piled high with  their remaining things. She made him take a detour through the village, letting her off on a quiet street corner while Hugh took her children for breakfast.

Alone, she crossed the street and wandered up the road toward Spiros’ house. She knew that she’d find it abandoned. By all accounts, Spiros, his wife and their children remained in Athens but what  _was_ parked outside the house was his beloved taxi.

Louisa approached it as if she were stepping toward the man himself. Even the sight of his car evoked soul-tearing memories. Whether it was the first moment he’d sounded his horn and pulled up brazenly  b ehind her  in a storm of dust or the last time she’d stepped from its embrace and waved goodbye – he lingered...

Gingerly, she came to a stop beside it. There was a sheen of dust over the entire surface – more around the wheel arches left over from their drive through the country roads.  Haunting evidence that their day spent together had been more than a dream. Inside, she saw that the wheel was now joined to both the dashboard  _and_ the seat by tiny silver threads of web. Knowing that Spiros would be horrified at the thought of arachnids taking up residence in his taxi, Louisa leaned over the door and cleared them all away.

Then, with great reluctance, she returned Spiros’ hat to the seat. She had kept it with her, these longs weeks but like everything else  _Spiros_ , it belonged on Corfu.

“Goodbye, Spiros...” She whispered to the taxi, but did not trust herself to say any more. If she started now, a sea of anguish would unravel from her and that would do nobody any good, especially her children. Louisa kissed her gloved fingertips and then pressed them to the steering wheel.

W ithout a second look – she headed down the road toward the strip of cafes where Hugh waited with her children.

*~*~*

“I _command_ you all to smile,” Louisa insisted, eyeing the line of sad faces with disapproval. “ Or at the very least try and make some light conversation while I go and murder half the Corfu customs department. We’re not going to get very far if I can’t get them to release our luggage so, if you’ll excuse me.” She sidled past them but not before more than a few sniffles rang out.

L ouisa summoned her  _inner Spiros_ as she stormed toward the small building perched on the edge of the water.  The one thing she had learned from her trusty taxi driver was that you didn’t have to understand the language to succeed, all you had to do was make an absolute racket.

I t had become fashionable to give foreigners a hard time and that seemed to be  _exactly_ what the trio of officers were doing. They had two of their suitcases held back under the suspicion that they might contain commercial content – the type of which, none of them were willing to venture a guess. Louisa, who barely passed muster as, ‘poor’ could not be a less likely candidate for a business scam. With that in mind, she sashayed right up to the desk and launched into a full raucous,  squawking manically like one of Gerry’s pelicans.

S he threw her hands in the air, strutted in front of the counter, swore at them in English and even tossed in a few fierce words she’d hears Spiros growl at the bank manager. She had no idea what they meant but they certainly made the customers officers take a double look at her. Finally, when they threatened to inspect one of the suitcases, she reached from the lid and slammed it back down – right on the man’s fingers. He yelped helplessly, clutching his wounded extremity. Before he could recover his senses Louisa snitched a piece of chalk and wrote on the side of the cases, copying the Greek on the other s in what she  _hoped_ was the right instruction and not something like,  _‘toss this shit overboard’_ .

They – well – they  _let her_ . Either they were afraid the famous Spiros would hunt them down at a later date or she had managed to scare them on her own merits. Either way, they emerged behind her from the building, carrying the rest of the luggage  then loaded it onto the ferry  without further incident.

“That wasn’t so hard, you know,” she added, to the shocked looks of the farewell party. “Once you get the hang of it.”

T heo shook his head with a mixture of admonishment and pride – took her face in his hands and dragged her in for an all-consuming hug that nearly lifted her from the ground.

“Come on, old chap...” Larry muttered, tapping Sven on the shoulder. “You’re taking this harder than me. They’re my siblings and mother.”

Theo didn’t care and, after releasing Louisa, dragged his kerchief from his pocket and used it to wipe his eyes which had somehow started leaking uncontrollably.

Sven kissed  Louisa softly on the cheek, whispered something no one could hear, despite  them leaning in, and then nodded his head  in resignation.

H ugh wasn’t sure what to offer – his hand? He was tossing his options up when Louisa answered for him, hugging him warmly and thanking him for all the help he’d given  her family , especially in the last few weeks.

Gerry was the last Durrell to  abandon the jetty – lingering beside Theo  while he made sure his mentor had a forwarding address for the school he was being forced to attend. “ You must  _promise_ to write, Theo,” Gerry insisted. “Otherwise I think I shall go mad – locked inside.”

“I will write you, I swear, all the time. Do not despair, Master Gerry. Humans are animals too. You will have plenty of them to study in the next couple of years. Unpick your boredom with their curiosities. I expect a summary of what you learn.”

Strengthened with a bit of hope, Gerry whistled to Roger and the pair of them walked onto the ferry.

Louisa was starting to learn the rumble of the engines – the smell of rust and salt that accumulated on the railings. The sound of rope straining under the pull of the tide. The gentle lap of wash that broke harmlessly on the sea side of the vessel. The feel of a day’s worth of heat collecting on the exposed surfaces and of course, the sound of its horn as it began going through the tight checklist of events before setting off.  It was a dance – and today that dance was heart breaking.

S he stepped forward and took the rail in her hands. Even separated by a layer of cotton, she could feel the distinct vibration of the engines which permeated every surface and would do so the entire way back to England.

It didn’t matter how much common sense she thought she had, Louisa  _still_ lifted her eyes to the road above the jetty in what she imagined was a last ditch effort to find Spiros’ taxi winding along from the cliffs. Of course he wasn’t there.  She chastised herself firmly and focused on the people who  _were_ standing on the pier, waving enthusiastically and shedding tears all over themselves.

Roger barked loudly as the ropes were thrown onto the dock and the ferry drifted free. Then, before she had a chance to think, they were turning away from Corfu and heading out into the channel. The sea pulled back on the ferry while Louisa held onto the rail. The outline of Hugh’s red car merged with the shadow of a nearby cypress – then the blur of the port and finally the distant glisten of Corfu’s white cliffs upon the horizon as they slipped into nothing.

She was left staring at the imposing outlines of Albania’s fearsome mountain ranges.  The haze of smoke turned them blue – except for their white snow caps  that cut at the sky like broken shards of a mirror .  Indeed, Louisa refused to go inside at all, preferring to linger on deck and watch the world melt away, one inch at a time.

T here were no tears. She simply couldn’t bring herself to cry them. Not yet.

* ~*~*

T wo day’s  later Hugh was having a rather pleasant cup of coffee at the café in the village when his jaw almost hit the table. There, crossing the square like a razor blade through flesh, was none other than Spiros Americanos.

“Shit...” He swore under his breath, stunned like a bloody mullet. “Ah – ah _shit..._ ” Hugh smashed down his cup into its saucer. Stumbling to his feet he nearly kicked over the ironwork chair – caught his sleeve on the table and promptly lost sight of Spiros as the man ducked into a side street. “Bastard..” Hugh hissed, giving immediate pursuit.

H ugh dove through the crowd in the square but they pushed back against him, yelling and laughing in a constant rabble of life. He found himself ducking under their arms or shuffling with his back to the alley wall in an attempt to navigate around them. Finally, he emerged on the street he’d seen Spiros  duck into and sure enough, there was his outline taking the corner at the e n d. Hugh broke into a jog, dragging himself up the slight hill.  _Bloody hell the man is fast_ , Hugh muttered to himself. He moved as if he were a phantom rather than a slightly stocky Greek taxi driver.

F inally, he caught up with Spiros outside his house. He was bent over his beloved taxi inspecting his hat which he held reverently – almost  _curiously_ in his hands. Spiros slipped it onto his head as Hugh arrived, panting and dripping from the effort.

Hugh draped himself over the opposite side of the car to Spiros,  hanging his head for a moment as he  gasped , “Spiros...”

Spiros, now wearing his hat, took a step back and eyed Hugh with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. “Please – do nots touch my car. You drip all over it.”

Hugh wished that he could comply but he was tired. “ Where on  _earth_ have you been?”

“I tells you, Athens.”

“Athens...” Hugh rolled his eyes and sucked in another breath. Then he noticed that Spiros was alone. Conspicuously so. “Where is your family?”

“I sorts it,” Spiros snapped, without offering further explanation.

“What – what does _that_ even mean?”

Spiros slipped into his car and ran his hands lovingly over the wheel. “I go see Mrs Durrells now. Please, do not lean on the car.” He repeated, when he saw that the other man was still using it as scaffolding.

Hugh peeled himself off the duco but didn’t go far. “Ah – Spiros, Louisa is  _gone_ .”

The car chortled into life, bucking underneath Spiros. “Gone where?”

“To – _England_.”

Spiros  absorbed this information then  calmly  pushed the stick into gear. The car started to roll off its park brake.

“Wait – hold on.” Hugh ran around to the front of the car, his palms on the bonnet. “Where are you going?”

Frustration crossed Spiros’ face when Hugh blocked the road. He couldn’t exactly run over the olive man. At least, not yet. “England.”

“H-how…?” Hugh’s face crumpled in confusion.

“I go. You stay, Mr Hughs.” The car pushed forward with a gentle warning. Hugh seemed to take it, stepping slightly to the side.

H e let the car move a few inches before Hugh shook his head, realising that this was a positively  _terrible_ idea. Instead, he slapped the car with both his hands, igniting a dark look from the taxi driver. “Spiros – get back here! Crazy Greek!” He added, scurrying along beside the car before surprising everyone, Spiros most of all, as he hoisted a long leg over the side and hopped in while it was moving. “I am coming with you. Christ – you don’t even know where she lives.”

“Bournemouth.” Spiros replied.

“Well – that’s a bigger place than you think.” Hugh tried to impress upon the other man, who was driving down the road – to _where_ exactly, Hugh wasn’t sure.

“England is small,” Spiros insisted. “Tiny island.”

“Says the man from Corfu…” His attempt at levity fell like a stone in a pond. “Not in the mood for irony. Okay – _Jesus_ – slow down,” he gripped the car as Spiros came around a corner a bit quick. “There isn’t even a ferry until next week. What are you going to do? Drive across the Ionian Sea?” Well – actually… Given the look Spiros had etched into his thick eyebrows, Hugh wouldn’t put it past hi m.


	11. Chapter 11

September the third came as any other day in  Bournemouth – with a graze of sea mist and the  _chug_ of the steam train spreading filthy soot over the town. The smoke fell as a blanket, washing over the street and dimming the dawn until it was blow n off into the water. Its horn screamed and hundreds of frightened children stepped off the train onto the platform with identification cards tied around their necks with lengths of string . Many were tiny – four at the most, clinging onto older children in clusters.  Mostly they were French – starved to the bone and wandering aimlessly until a flight of women wearing uniforms stormed out to mark their names off lists.  They picked up the most vulnerable, carting them around on their hips  to stop them toddling off.

T he women were kind but direct, processing the little ones as quickly as possible to get them out of the cold. Even then there was a great deal of confusion. Missing children. Extra children. Tears and frantic questions that no one could understand.

“Are you certain this is what you want to do?” Louisa asked her only daughter, as they waited on the wide road behind the station. They watched proceedings carefully. Margo had that sharp glint of _purpose_ in her eyes. Slowly, she nodded.

“Yes, I think so. ‘Children’ are something I’m good at. Though I _do hope_ they don’t make me wear anything too matronly. That’ll be no fun at all.”

Louisa brushed bits of dirt off her daughter’s shoulder. She couldn’t help fussing over their appearance, even if it was entirely pointless. “All right – if you are sure.” Then, she leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I’ve very proud of you.  Volunteering.”

“I haven’t done anything...” Margo frowned.

She cupped her cheek tenderly. “You are going to be brilliant.”

“ _And_ I heard they feed us too, so that’s good.”

Louisa felt herself rolling her eyes. Margo’s priorities were intact. “Make sure you visit Gerry in his holidays. You promise?”

“Yes – I promise. That’s if he’s not been eaten by the other boys like that novel Larry was talking about. He’s always going on about one thing or another.”

Louisa waited in the street for a long time  as she watched Margo talk to the women on the train station. The ir organisation ran several large boarding houses in the area  that had been set up to take the thousands of children fleeing both London and other parts of Europe. Margo could speak a little bit of French  which immediately endeared her to some of the frightened children who clung onto her skirt  and refused to let go. Eventually, Margo turned around and gave a wave to Louisa, signalling that it was safe to leave.

Louisa blew her a kiss.  That was the last chil d set off into the world…  Larry was married in Corfu, Gerry was settling into boarding school,  Leslie had begun work at the RAF factory and now Margo was on her way as well… She had her doubts that  _any_ of these things were permanent but they were all a step in the right direction.

With a sigh, she turned and wandered down the road, headed for the sea. It was an eternal pull – the water and the sky. It didn’t matter that beautiful buildings towered on both sides – their  windows covered in blankets, newspaper and special blacking-material. Or that the sides of the streets had been painted white with cars milling by,  head lights taped over  to mask their presence from the sky . All she saw was the streak of blue at the end of the street  like an eye to the gods.

Cold, Louisa buttoned the front of her grey coat up to her neck and tugged her  chequered hat down, hiding as best she could from the weather. Nobody else seemed to be troubled by the sudden drop in temperature but her years on Corfu had skewed her internal thermomet er.  This was practically Arctic in her mind – an assault on her senses.

S he had been to  Bournemouth  once  before – years ago now, with her aunt. The memory was quite surreal. They’d sat inside one of the luxury apartments facing the sea, three of four levels up and taken tea and cake with yards of silk drapes trailing over the floor and the tick of half a dozen antique clocks.  The room was a relic of the eighteen hundreds, surviving in a quiet village by the sea  with all its trappings intact .

As she reached the last line of buildings fronting the sand she paused and tried to pick out which of the sandstone giants it was. There... The one with a pair of red marble pillars either side of the door and an ugly yawning lion statue, chipped at the paws. She wondered if the old woman was still there, ensconced in her chair staring at the place on the wall where her windows had been – vacant eyes, lost nowhere. War was official and they had all become prisoners in their own homes. Like rats, the English had to scurry about in the darkness to survive, listening for the sound of spluttering engines in the sky.

T he beach had not done much better.  Several piers  stretched off to the left, towering above the water on black legs, partially eaten by centuries of clawing tides.  Instead of white pebbles there was a long curve of yellow sand  hemmed in by a steep barrier of heath-covered  dunes . The beach  extended so far  that it arched nearly all the way around on itself. She could walk all day and not make a dent in its scope. Where once that was a beautiful thought, it  had become a burdensome nightmare for the  troop of  soldier s driving stakes into the bank and running long coils of razor wire between the dunes and the tide.  Her throat clenched as she watched children duck through the blades, carefully weaving their way around the tools of  combat before scampering into the water beyond  where they laughed and splashed.  One of the soldiers noticed her staring at the mess of violence and offered a slight smile, dipping his head with a polite,  _‘Good morning’_ as you might say passing on the street.

“Good morning...” she replied, almost instinctively then offered him a smile. Maybe Spiros had a point. It was the English attachment to pleasantries that made all the difference.

She traipsed through the sand until she found a path that climbed back onto the road. From there, Louisa absently followed a crowd of people onto the pier. She was simply part of the masses – wandering with ambivalence. Anything, to feel the fresh air on her face. Made from old boards, the pier beneath her feet harboured a melancholy grey – dressed up with white and blue paint which the sea did its best to tear down. The covered rooms sold tickets and rationed food – newspapers and blankets. Louisa walked its entire length and until a rail pressed against her hips, stopping her.

Drizzle coated her skin. She closed her eyes to it as the screech of a seagull echoed, hollow on the wind. Enormous ships sounded their horns in the distance. Their bellows were so low they rustled in her ear like the mountains used to shake. Clouds thickened over head. She didn’t need to see them – she could _feel_ the little warmth drain from the air as a shadow passed over the world.

D esperately, she tried to imagine the glittering harbour at Corfu. It refused to come into her mind. Already, its clarity  fad ing , tarnished by the weeks spent apart . The wonderful detail blurr ed a little every day.  Soon she feared that she’d forget the scent of dust in breeze and the ache of sunlight beating down on the shacks beside the harbour. Furious, she opened her eyes and wiped the moisture from her face.

Absolutely  _pointless_ . The rain started.

W ater  teamed from the upturned brim of her small, charcoal hat.  It ran down her neck, freezing  where it bled into her collar.  The ocean softened behind the curtain of water. The other people on the pier must have felt as miserable as her, for they all started to turn and scurry toward the overhangs. Others bailed entirely, rushing down the length of the pier with newspapers leaking ink clutched over their heads.  Their footsteps rumbled while the soldiers on the beach kept working, ignoring the downpour.

She watched  the people fuss and rush about. They acted like Gerry’s birds, all scampering and fluttering this way and that. Shedding feathers and cawing hopelessly at one another. An utter commotion.

It was only then that she noticed one pedestrian fighting their way through the crowd in the opposite direction. Heading  _up_ the pier, rather than down,  u sing their shoulders to fend off the constant deluge of people.

Louisa’s arms dropped to her side. Rain dripped from every seam of her clothes. It ran  over her cheeks unimpeded. She stared at the figure making his way toward her, hat pulled down  and light coat drawn across . Her lips parted in a breath that never quite managed to form his name. She would know that man anywhere. A thousand years could  live and die in darkness and  _still_ she’d pick him from the crowd in an instant.  He never faded because he was writ in her soul, not her mind.  Every inch of him.

The end of the pier where she stood was entirely abandoned by the time he took his last few steps towards her. It was raining properly, drowning them both and filling the world with the relentless _chink chink chink_ of droplets hitting the metal rails. Try as she might, Louisa could not find any air in her lungs to breathe let alone say hello. She wasn’t even convinced that he was really standing in front of her, drenched and shivering so far from home.

“Famous English rain,” Spiros announced, with an air of wonder that refused to be dampened, “it happens often, yes?” When she did not reply – or even move, he continued with his smile growing ever wider. She wondered if it might consume the sun. “That is why everything is green, I thinks. More flowers. Less dust. Very beautiful.” His voice dropped for those last two words and suddenly it didn’t seem like Spiros was talking about England at all. “ _Very beautiful_ ,” he repeated, risking another step in her direction.

L ouisa  sucked in a laboured  breath. The wooden boards beneath creaked.  She could  _hear_ the sound of the rain falling on his soft hat and see quite clearly that beyond his enormous smile there were glimpses of red at the corners of his eyes  from where he’d cried hours unchecked . All she could do was shake her head in denial. It wasn’t possible that he had come all this way to talk about the rain.

Spiros was close enough to reach up to her face. With fingers slightly curled towards his palm, he laid the back of his knuckles ever so gently on her  freezing  cheek.  He felt her lean into his touch. Carefully and ever so slowly, he unfurled his fingers to take her face into his hand. All the while he was terrified that she might take fright and vanish on him forever.  Shatter, like a burning lantern thrown into the water. He could not tell which were tears and which, the rain.

“Wh-what are you doing – here…?” Louisa swallowed hard, barely able to speak as his warm hand drew her toward him.

“There was something I did not have the chance to say – before you left...”

His eyes  bore  into her with such ferocity that Louisa had to break from them for a moment and stare down at the jetty. There was half an inch of water at their feet, inundating them as if it were a sea. With enormous effort, she lifted her gaze back to his and somehow, in those moments, he had moved even closer.  D rowning  out the rain.

She caught a glimpse of his other hand. _He is not wearing a ring._ Louisa’s heart thundered. _Neither was she_.

“Please...” She whispered, almost begging. “What was it?” His enormous, weathered thumb grazed the very edge of her lips. Louisa couldn’t bear it. A shiver unravelling in her spine.

“I wanted to tells you that _I loves you_.”

Her sob cut the rain. Echoed in the sodden air. Another followed. Overwhelming her. Spiros couldn’t stand her sorrow, closing in until their shoes touched. His head dipped down and Louisa felt his warmth rise above the cold rain. Water fell from his hat onto her face where it mixed with her tears. She slid her hand up his chest, taking hold of his lapel. She gripped on hard, needing to prove that he was real and that she wasn’t rambling to herself in the rain. He lifted his free arm, gripping her elbow gently.

“I can say these things,” he continued, voice rolling as though it were a distant thunder, “because I am _free_.” Closer again, his hand anchoring  them as his lips hovered atop hers, posing a silent question. His deep brown eyes remained open, unable to tear away from her porcelain skin or flicker of light from her blue eyes.

Heavy tears slipped from Louisa and tumbled between them  along  with the rest of the rain.  What had he gone and done?  _Free_ . But that meant...

“Louisa...” He breathed her name.

“Mr Halikiopoulos...” She fell into his lips.

S piros kissed her as if she were the sea and he a sailor, thrown from his ship into the depths.  They struggled against each other, trying perilously, to fold themselves together. His hand slid down to her neck as she twisted in his arms, rising onto her toes if only to press herself harder into his kiss.  Her free arm draped over his shoulder, holding on.  After god-knows how many dragging minutes s he felt him smile against her lips causing her to pull back slightly and see the delight reflected in his eyes.

“What...” Louisa murmured, stealing a fleeting kiss from the corner of his mouth.

“The rain stops now,” he replied, flicking his gaze playfully up.

He was right, it  _had_ stop ped raining but she had not stopped crying. Her tears persisted, rolling down her face in hot, heavy drops. Spiros would have none of it – taking her face in both his hands and brushing them away.

“You’re no better,” she insisted, dipping her head shyly. Louisa grasped his left hand between hers and ran her fingers over the mark where his wedding ring used to sit.

H is heart trembled as her lips kissed his  bare finger. Spiros didn’t know what to do, so he leaned a little  until his forehead rest ed against hers.  It was more intimate than anything they’d done.  There had not been a single moment where he’d stopped to think about what he was doing now here he was, a world away from Corfu without a cent or a plan. The only thing Spiros knew was that he couldn’t  exist without her.

“Foolish man...” Louisa added, pressing her cheek to his knuckles – resting there with her eyes closed.

“Not foolish,” Spiros insisted, placing kisses down the side of her face until she opened her eyes again. “I hads to find you, Louisa.” Her name again. Before he said it only in his dreams. “Even if all we say is goodbye.”

“No,” she straightened up. It was her turn to wipe the rain from his face. Much good it did her, with water streaming down the brim of his old hat. “Foolish because, oh Spiros… I was coming back. I didn’t leave you at all… I have a ticket and everything. Didn’t Hugh tell you? Spiros?” He had frozen in her arms, brown eyes searching hers for a lie but it wasn’t there. “When it came time to go – I couldn’t… Do you understand. I couldn’t let you go-” Then he was kissing her again with such force her back met the edge of the pier. She groaned into his mouth, devastated by his ardour. Thank god for his arms around her waist or she’d have fallen.

“Yes, yes – this is going well, I see...” Hugh wandered up the pier, along with everyone else picking their way out from the shadows. The entire world dripped except for the sky, which had gone dry. Another passing cloud, barely large enough to cover the sun. He stopped a polite distance from the couple and waited for them to drag their lips away from each other. Hugh could see quite clearly how hopeless his endeavour to court Louis had been with Spiros waiting at the edges. He may as well have fought the moon.

“You – knew?” Spiros queried. He probably should have been furious but nothing could dampen his mood.

“Of course,” he shrugged. “Half of Louisa’s things are in my house – I ah… Might have told her about that too.”

Louisa shrugged innocently.

Spiros was –  trying to decide if he could physically throw Hugh over the front of the pier.  Louisa threaded her fingers with his, distracting Spiros as she tugged him forwards.

“I believe what Hugh is trying to say is that I should be heading off soon or I’ll miss the ferry to Corfu – as will you, it appears.”

Spiros hadn’t quite caught up with what was going on. “I – don’t have a – ti-”

“Ticket?” Hugh asked, withdrawing one from his pocket and brandishing it in the air. “You don’t think I was going to let you come all the way over here on some grand romantic gesture without a passage home, did you?” He handed the ticket to an utterly bemused Spiros. Then he winked at Louisa whose grin widened. If this was Hugh’s way of saying sorry, it was working. “Unfortunately you’ll have to find your own way to the port. I am – otherwise engaged...”

“The future, ‘Mrs Hugh’?” Louisa teased.

“Only if I’m lucky,” he tipped his head. “I’d wish you two good luck but the Fates have taken a fondness already.”

“You should not have let poor Spiros come all this way...” Louisa eyed Hugh sternly, if not a little playfully.

Hugh raised his hands innocently. “Who am I to step in the way of love? Besides – I didn’t have enough rope to tie Spiros to his taxi. When that man wants to do something...”

They all laughed warmly and said their goodbyes.

“Did he really give you his olive grove?” Louisa asked Spiros, after Hugh’s white suite had faded into the sea of English grey.

Together, they strolled back down the pier, arm in arm, unable to part from each other entirely. “Most certainly,” Spiros replied, quite unable to believe that Louisa was wandering in step with him. “But I intends to give it back as soon as the war ends. He loves his olives. I look after them.” He paused. “How does one look after olives?” He frankly didn’t have the faintest clue.

Louisa laughed and turned her face into his shoulder for a moment. “We’ll ask Sven.”  When they reached the road, Louisa diverted to one of the cheap hotels perched near the end of the street. Most of the splendour had been worn away but there was still a blackboard outside offering jam and scones. “I’ll only be a few minutes,” she insisted, parking him beside the door when he tried to follow.  _“You’re not allowed...”_ She added, whispering. “Do you – did you bring  _anything_ with you, at all? Luggage… A change of clothes?” Because he looked like a drowned rat.

S piros shook his head.

“O-okay...” That was both romantic and a little concerning. Louisa decided to stick with the first one as she ducked inside, took the key from the woman at the desk and headed upstairs to pack her suitcase. There wasn’t much. She’d only brought enough with her to get her through the month or so it would take to get her children settled. Gerry had been right, sitting with her on the wall. They were all growing up – spreading their wings in different directions. She couldn’t fight the natural order of things and before long she’d be left alone, guarding and empty nest with nothing but the torturous thoughts of what _might_ have been. She felt the most guilty about Gerry but at the same time she had a feeling that he was the least likely to mind. That boy had his eyes set on the world and as soon as he was able, she was certain he’d launch himself upon it.

Which left her with only one question. Would she risk  _her own life_ to stay with Spiros, married or not? Of course, the answer had come before she’d finished asking the question. Of  _bloody_ course.  It had kept her awake, staring down from the window above the party in her house.

Louisa changed into something dry but there wasn’t anything she could do about the state of her hair. Actually, a glimpse in the mirror showed her to be a right shock – she was astounded Spiros had been so keen on her.

Spiros  was  outside, wringing out his hat onto the footpath. The rest of him dripped. God – she thought – how extraordinary that someone would be so reckless on her account.  Every time she paused to examine what he’d done, her heart clenched with indulgence. “What are we going to do about you?” She asked, running one of her hands through his wet hair.  There was nothing to be done about it. “You’re soaked through.”

“I will dry, Mrs Durrells” he assured her, slipping back into his familiar manners without noticing. “But ah – how do we get to this ferry?”

“Why, a taxi – of course.”

There was something quite novel about bundling Spiros into the back of a taxi – sidling up beside him with his hand in her lap.  It was all rather  bizarre , especially as he rolled down the window and watched  first  the town  then the countryside roll by. He was determined to enjoy himself even on the eve of war.  He liked the sandstone churches with scattered gardens and rich, velvet willows draping over idle streams. The occasional castle ruin, bleak and grey, clawing from the ground like fingers of the dead. Forests of scrappy Beech turning bare with their golden leaves left to scatter in the wind. Even the docks themselves – best described as a mess of industry and filth filled Spiros with a sense of daunting  _hope_ .

He carried her bag on board the ferry before they lingered on deck, side by side at the rail while the boat dragged itself into open water. It was a clumsy thing, sidling by a swarm of nimble fishing trawlers. Five levels suspended over the water – unchained for three decades, like the Empire – limping along on its last legs. The first time Louisa had left England and watched the continent shrink towards the horizon, she’d had a sort of resigned certainty that she’d return, again and again, to its shores. Now she was not quite sure. Her children were as safe as she could make them but uncertainty hung heavy on the air. Spiros wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her silently until there was nothing on the water except a few brave seagulls bobbing up and down on the waves with the heads turned backwards, picking lice from their feathers.

* ~*~*

Their room  on board  was tiny but at least she was sharing it with Spiros and not a stranger. Narrow and rectangular, there were two  bench seats – one on the left and the other on the right which transformed into beds in the evening.  Dark, polished wooden panels covered every surface but the lacquer  had thinned allowing moisture in to rust the tops of the nails. There was a shelf for luggage above and a piece of netting  affixed to the back of the door where a few newspapers had been stuffed inside. Without touching them, she could see that their pages were full of violent talk and depressing truths so she left them be and instead turned her attention to the man opposite. It was the first time they had been alone since – well – was it a declaration? It was  _something_ .

He was just as nervous, sitting in the centre of his seat, hands on his knees to keep them from fussing. Louisa took pity  on him.

“I hope you haven’t changed your mind about absconding with an English woman,” she opened playfully. Here they were, caged in together like a pair of Gerry’s creatures. “Hugh’s friend at the Home Office has run out of favours. No more free ferry tickets.”

“My mind does not change on such things,” he replied, quite unable to stop himself looking at her. “I am sorry about the disappearing,” he added, sincerely. “Things took longer than I expected. Much longer. I had thought to be back in time for this party I hear about.”

Once again her eye was drawn to his hand. She’d caught him touch the place where his ring had been a few times. Not that she minded. It was new for him and something she did herself – a habit. A broken thread, even. “ What did you do, in Athens?” It was clear that he didn’t like to talk of these things but she’d only ask him once.

“A divorce,” he finally replied, quieter than before. “My wife she wanted to return to Corfu. Stay in the family home with the children. I say – she can have the home. Of course. For the children but that if anything happens – if fighting starts, then she must go back to her mother, in Athens. This, finally, she agree. In Athens they will be safe.”

Louisa nodded gently. “ I don’t expect you to have a heart of stone,”  she assured him. “You loved her once.”

“Not as much as I should have,” he admitted, staring at her. “I think you know already.”

The ferry rocked beneath them a s they entered open ocean. Everything rattled. A few things slid across the floor until they found something to catch on. Louisa stood up, placed her hand on the window to steady herself, then took the three steps needed to cross to his seat. She sat down beside him – shoulder to shoulder.

“I remember the first time I met you – surprisingly clearly, actually, when I think back to how tired I was.” And how utterly lacking in hope the world had been. “You drove up – showering us with dust, I might add – then absconded with my ungrateful children.” She paused to admire his amusement.” While they were piling into your taxi with all bags and rabble, I looked at you and thought… Thought, _everything is going to be okay_. How daft I must seem but -” but he was playing with a loose curl of hair that had fallen in front of her ear. “Stop that...” She warned. As he slowly lowered his fingers she realised he was going to be a terrible distraction. “Well – this hat of yours is wet,” Louisa dragged it off his head and hooked it over the knob beside the window, “and your jacket.” Though she didn’t trust herself to take it off him.

Spiros shuffled out of  it and handed  the damp item over . She stood and moved to the door, hanging it  beside his hat . He was going to be freezing, sitting there in a thin shirt that was translucent with damp on the shoulders. She fished out one of the blankets  from a nook in the wall then stood in front of him and wrapped it around his shoulders. He reached up, catching her dangerously by the hips. Her heart fluttered wildly but Louisa forced herself to escape his hold and retreat to her side of the room, shaking her head.

“Not a good idea...” She whispered. “These walls-” her hand reached out to touch one of them, “-you can hear people breathe through them. Okay – I’m – I’m going to go and find us something to eat before I forget myself.”

Outside, she laid against the  closed door if only to catch her breath.  People navigated past her in the narrow hallway, annoyed by the obstacle she presented. Most were Greek, returning home to their families.  A few more were diplomats, connecting on to Africa.

She placed her hand across her chest, mortified to find her heart racing. That explained her light head  and the way the edges of the room threatened to spin .  She decided to get some much needed air – taking the steps up to the top deck where she took a few turns, roaming around in the open air as the light was sucked from the sky. The stars returned and she found herself smiling up at their milky hue.  _How ridiculous_ she thought, that Spiros was waiting in her room. Frankly, she could not quite believe that he had done what he’d done… Now Corfu waited, as surreal as one of his stories.

Then what?

Then  _everything_ .

The nerves of it all made her rather ill and she had to sit down. The waves  rolled  the ferry around. In the black, its lights cast soft circles on the water.  _Less than before._ Gone were the search lights  mounted to the bow . Everything had gone dark and quiet with  all eyes glancing nervously at the sky, listening for the drone of bombers.  They were ants riding a leaf across the stream.

L ouisa  heard  the ship’s radio through the din. Most of it was the on-off scratch as passing boats issued friendly greetings. Every now and then a weather report tumbled in. Clear skies. Dry wind. Behind it trailed the ominous  _all clear_ referring to something else entirely. Ten minutes dragged to several hours and suddenly Louisa heard rather than saw the enormous hull of  what she thought was an old whaling vessel. As it approached and the lights from the ferry crawled up its slightly rusted hull, she realised it was a Royal Navy minesweeper, doing the rounds. It cut through the water, remaining straight and stable while their ferry to-ed and fro-ed. Even in the darkness she could see the mess of cables, piping, nets and canvas draped all over the top. Sailors patrolled the de c k, several of which cast a suspicious eye at the ir ferry  from behind  an enormous gun barrel mounted to the bow.

I t was not the first time she’d been opposite a Flower-Class vessel. There were hundreds of them in the  Great W ar – one of which her husband had taken her on  during an inspection . She  recognised the sound the enormous boilers churning below deck,  driving the ship across the waves  and  knew the racks of sinister depth charges that were no doubt ready for deployment. She also  understood that wherever these  ships were, far more sinister, silent craft lurked below the surface. Suddenly the beautiful dark waters that picked up edges of the starlight took on a hostile air.

S lowly, she stood and walked to the rail. Louisa lifted her hand and, with the last of the light between them, waved at the sailors on deck. They stared back, seemingly cold and rigid until, at the final moment, one raised his hand and dipped his head with a smile.


	12. Chapter 12

Four more stormed from the darkness.  A patrol sailing into the Western waters – grazing the edge of the civilian shipping route  in a protective sheet, cradling the defenceless fishing barges . Louisa  began to think of them as ghosts for they passed in relative silence, unnaturally lit with haunting names – each one a different English flower.  Jonquil. Acanthus. Mayflower. Carnation.  They’d affixed beauty to violence in an attempt to endear it as the captains of old cast goddesses from bronze and mounted them to their  galleons .

S he flinched, withdrawing from the railing to find that she’d sliced her palm. Blood ran through the creases in her hand and dripped down her wrist  in twin lines  that diverged into half a dozen more, like the branches of the Nile  splintering at Cairo .  Louisa stretched out her arm, holding it away from her dress  then gave it a shake.

“Dammit!”

“Careful...” A man appeared behind her, holding out a handkerchief. “She is old and full of scars. Wounded beasts kick and bite.”

Louisa accepted his offer, wrapping the slip of fabric around her hand. The man was tall, slight with hair so bleached it was almost orange – short cut and slicked across his head. Green eyes pierced the evening, keeping watch of the ships meandering through the darkness. He had a faintly Polish air to him but these days peoples were dispersed so far it was becoming difficult to tell them apart. Though he did not wear a uniform, he stood rigid like a soldier, one breath from attention. Impeccable in every moment, unnaturally so.

“Are you all right, Miss?” He continued, when the woman did not speak.

“Mrs...” She automatically corrected but then furrowed her face in confusion. ‘Mrs’ didn’t seem appropriate any more. “Sorry I’m sort of – in between husbands.” And when _that_ awkward turn of phrase settled she bit her lip, appalled. “That sounded better in my head.”

If he was amused, he did not show it.  “ I am sure it did...”

“Louisa,” she offered the man her name instead. “It’s been a long four years. My manners have escaped me.”

“As have mine,” he replied, shifting and softening slightly. He’d forgotten what it was to be in the company of civilians. “Group Captain Clive Robinson,” he extended his hand. They shook politely. “I could not help but notice you are heading South when perhaps North would be more favourable.”

“You mean to say that I am not Greek…” Many on board were thinking it, even if they kept their mouths shut. She was one of very few pale faces cluttering the decks of the ferry. “There is no point trying to convince me otherwise. I am throwing my lot in with them, so to speak. And you? Should not you be on one of those ships?” The ships that had nearly been swallowed by the night. They were as faint as distant stars – a trick of the darkness only visible from the corner of the eye.

“Believe it or not, Ms Louisa, this ferry will get me where I’m going faster than anything else on offer. May I escort you inside? The evening presses on.” Though he would not say it, it was no longer safe to grace the decks.

S he was grateful when he led her into the dining hall and stayed with her, talking idly of his new post in Greece as an advisor while she put together something for Spiros.  Aside from Leslie’s desperate if not failed aspirations to join the war effort, nobody in her family seemed to grasp the peril on the horizon. Margo  _maybe_ had a better idea but Louisa worried that everyone was washing around in a dream.

In return  for his conversation , she shared a little of her dramatic romance.  It appeared to his great amusement. Happiness was hard to come by and he threatened to share her story far and wide.  “That explains your confusion,” he said, open ing the awkward door into the hallway for her.  It was heavy and not quite hinged far enough to open all the way back  not to mention the loose glass panel that rattled alarmingly at any disturbance. “I wish the two of you fair tidings and good fortune.”

Louisa slipped through the door then paused. “The same to you,”  she replied, sincerely. “ With – ah – whatever is coming... ”

He hesitated, as though wondering if he should say something else... Robinson decided against it and merely gave a final nod.

*~*~*

A little unsettled by what _wasn’t_ said, Louisa returned to the tiny room. The moon forced absurdly bright columns of light through the lace curtains that covered the pair of  rickety windows. The entire shambles was less convincing in structural integrity than her old, beloved villa. It had probably been let to someone else by now…

There lay Spiros, curled up on the seat with the blanket wrapped around his upper body, breathing quietly – sound asleep. Louisa gently set the plate of food on the table and tip-toed over to him, stumbling slightly as the ferry hit a wave. She heard the water _sloosh_ up against the hull then swirl beneath creating a fresh wake.

S he knelt down on the floor beside him  before reaching over, tenderly placing her hand on the blanket near where his arm must be. Louisa did not necessarily want to wake him but at the same time she could not stop herself from touching him  affectionately . He was unbelievably precious to her. Louisa’s other hand traced his hair – soft and thick. The moonlight picked out a stray  strand of silver tucked among the black. She felt as though she was discovering secrets…  Prying – ever so slightly – into the world of  _Spiros_ .

I t wasn’t fair to wake him, so Louisa silently retreated.  One day she would have to extract the valiant story of Spiros diving onto the ferry in chase of love against what she hoped were sensible protests from Theo and Sven. Larry well – her son probably did not even notice what was going on.  He had a tendency to miss the important events on Corfu.  It was not surprise her at all if he spent the entirety of war in his room writing some, ‘ode to tobacco’ or whatever it was that held his fancy at the present.

With considerable stealth and effort,  Louisa folded the bed down and changed into her long, white night gown. Laying in the narrow, unyielding  mattress she set her eyes on the moon – watching it creep up the window until the ravenous light softened to a milieu  and she lost track of the orb .  It was far from the first time they’d slept near one another. Surprisingly, over the years there had been dozens of times the night wore on too long and  Spiros had taken up residence in a nearby couch, rug, blanket or kitchen floor. They were her favourite moments. The times when she’d placed a cushion under his head or a second quilt over him in the winter  to keep the frost at bay . The se were the soft exchanges he’d never know about.  They had been  _her_ indulgence when there were no others to be had. A comfort to combat the utter resignation she’d  harboured toward their situation, after all Spiros was married.

_Not any more._

A flare of embarrassment rose in her cheeks  as she thought of the conversations that must have transpired with  _her_ as their topic. Conversations with his wife – their lawyer – his friends … By now everyone in Corfu would know  that Spiros had left his wife for the English widow . They’d be a scandal. Hell – a year’s worth of gossip… While Louisa was confident she could survive their harsh words (partly because her Greek remained sketchy), she did worry for Spiros’ sake. He came off all loud and tough but he was vulnerable especially where affection was concerned. He wanted, rather desperately, to be loved. Not simply by her but by  _Corfu_ .  He need not worry on that account. One of the first things she’d learned of Spiros was the  unfathomable amount of  affection everyone else had for him.  Only someone of such unreasonable endearment would get away with  what he did.

Several hours came and went. Louisa drifted, never quite asleep. Darkness replaced the moon  but there was enough residual light for her to pick the features of the room.  Including Spiros… Louisa turned onto her side to watch him shuffle in his sleep, perched on the awkward bench.  A mountain in the dark  with as many rises, cliffs and bluffs as the lumbering shadows languishing on the horizon of the Ionian Sea.

His eyes were open – watching her as she watched him. Louisa bit her lip softly, caught. He was staring with the whites of his eyes picking up the little light that remained to them. Slowly, Spiros sat up – his bones _clicking_ free from their unnatural position as he stretched lazily. He let the blanket fall onto the floor as he set about extracting the bed from the wall, then fussed a little, finding a pillow. Standing with his back to her, Louisa watched Spiros slide his red and brown striped suspenders off his shoulders, allowing them to hang loose off his hips while he dragged his shirt out from the waistband of his pants. The shuffle of fabric rustled in Louisa’s ear. It shouldn’t be such a distraction _but it was_. He was.

S he closed her eyes to remove the temptation and regretted  it nearly immediately. When she opened them again she was faced with the expanse of Spiros’ naked back and what a vast – unmarred creation of muscle and bone it was. Her breath quickened at the weak light dancing off his  untamed form which only got worse as Spiros stepped out of his shoes then unbuttoned the front of his trousers.

Louisa must have let out a muffled  _squeak_ because Spiros halted and  glanced over his shoulder with a set of dangerous eyes. Darker than usual and infinite, sucking her into their depths most willingly.  Then his hands continued, unhooking the double sets of buttons on his trousers even though his eyes never left hers.  Even though he moved slower than before, a ll too soon he was letting the pants fall down his legs revealing first the sharp edge of his hips, followed by the firm rise of his backside and defined legs. Naked as the day he was born, Spiros deliberately turned to face her – letting  Louisa look as long as she liked.

Heaven help her – _she looked_. Heat flooded her body as her gaze wandered inevitably down his chest to the distinctive ‘V’ at the base of his torso. Beneath, his arousal lifted him back to the thick, long and slightly curved shaft she remembered from the beach in Corfu. Those hours were in her mind as a blur – his physical details mixed with the frenzy of their passion. This time the world had fallen into a lull. Paused. Aside from the sound of water against the ship’s hull, there was no evidence that time moved at all while he stared.

He broke the peace by walking slowly towards her, each step bouncing him slightly. He appeared beside her bed and she felt herself playing catchup to his obvious desire. She licked her lips slowly, never daring to say a word as he picked up the edge of her blanket and peeled it from her body. The cool air was nothing to Louisa. Not when her body throbbed with the heat he was creating without ever touching her. He’d taken heed of her earlier warning and made absolutely no sound. Spiros lowered his hand and she felt the press of his fingertips against the light cotton on her collarbone. Then, slowly, he let those fingertips trace down the centre of her chest between her breasts. He ignored the rise and fall of her rib cage as she sucked in long, heavy breaths. Her stomach fluttered when he grazed over the fabric covering it, feeling what could only be a hint of her clenching flesh. Further still until Louisa noticed him lean toward her as his hand found the edge of her nightgown. For a moment she thought he might slide underneath it and explore her flesh in secret but Spiros was more bold, catching its lace end and dragging it _up_ her legs, revealing her pale skin one inch at a time.

As a moan found its way to her lips, Spiros gently covered her mouth with his free hand – silencing her. She arched her body up to his hand in response, utterly caught by his forwardness. Her husband had _never_ looked at her with such unbridled desire. Spiros – he wanted her because _he wanted her_.

He took her nightgown all the way to her waist, leaving it bunched up beneath her chest while his fingers traced slow, indulgent circles around her belly button. Eventually he shifted his attention to her hip bone, following its angular line down, diagonally along her hip until he reached her curls. Louisa whimpered into his hand.

Despite the narrowness of the bed and one side of it bordered by the cabin wall, Spiros removed his hand and pressed it to the mattress, anchoring himself as he swung his leg over her body and moved onto the bed – holding himself above her without touching yet. The bed gave a _creak_ but nothing more. They both paused, listening intently to the cabins either side of them. Nothing. Spiros grinned and gently moved his hand from her mouth but not without her brushing her lips across his fingertips letting him know that it was all right.

Braced, Spiros used his now free hand to slide between her silken thighs and nudge them – encouraging her to part her legs wide and hook them up around his hips, allowing him to lower himself slowly towards her. All the while, Louisa held his gaze – the pair of them spellbound by each other. There was no one there to stop them and she had run out of excuses to give in to the ache in her soul.

Even in this light he’d be able to see that she was ready for him, glistening as he moved forward. He came down onto his elbows and wrapped his hands around her wrists. She went to gasp as his stomach grazed hers but he dipped down in time to consume her mouth with his lips, drowning out the wanton moan rising in the back of her throat as he finally slid into her, pushing all the way until their hips met and she thought she might unravel right there.

He stopped, fully seated as she adjusted her legs, keeping Spiros firmly between her thighs. She collected her courage and kissed him back, roaming into his mouth not satisfied until it was Spiros that frowned in passion, tilted his head and broke away with a quiet gasp.

In a form of torture, Spiros rocked his hips forward – driving himself a fraction deeper to which Louisa snapped her head away with a breathless gasp and raised her hips, encouraging him. She fought against the hands holding her down, revelling in his obvious strength. Cruelly slow, he drew in and out of her, each time her body tightened, begging him deeper. Spiros’ lips caught the side of her neck and somehow a kiss turned into a bite. Louisa nuzzled desperately against his cheek, enticing him into another heady kiss if only to muffle the litany of cries she wanted scream but could not voice. It was outrageous, rutting like teenagers but she was completely enamoured.

Louisa fell first, bucking suddenly against him. He followed almost immediately, spilling through her. This time it was _her_ lips that silenced his desperate growl and her hands that slipped from his hold to run tenderly down the front of his chest, seeking out his heart.

Calming, his lips roamed – over the bridge of her noise, fleeting across her forehead and down, pausing beside her eye where she was certain that she felt them tremble. Spiros’ lovemaking was a form of worship that she’d not prepared herself for. She was _never_ going to be able to leave him – the thought still in her mind when she realised that he was still inside of her. Louisa draped her arms over his shoulders as his lips found her neck. He whispered something Greek in her ear that she didn’t understand and rocked his hips again.

*~*~*

“Incredible,” said Louisa, sitting at the front of the ferry beneath the full oppression of the midday sun. Spiros sat beside her, one hand reached behind where it gripped the back of the bench leaving him slightly canted toward her. “The things we build...”

The Suez Canal snaked through the desert, its waters shifting between azure and emerald depending on the depth. Here, with the dunes pressing ominously on both sides, frozen in yellow waves, the waters were impossibly green. Their ferry trundled in between a convoy of towering warships. Grey beasts, they were forced to crawl carefully along the channel like everyone else, appearing almost as beached whales instead of the imposing terror they tried to be.

“The British send ships to the Mediterranean,” Spiros noted. He’d been quietly counting them since his first trip. “I cannot decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Good because – they are here to defend Greece and Malta against Mussolini’s increasingly bold rhetoric...”

“And _bad_ because this many ships means we need defending...”

“Some of these are _old_ ,” Louisa added. “I recognise the design from the first war – they are probably carrying the same ordnance.” She shook her head. “It’s as though our country refused to accept the possibility that there could be another war and so made no provision for it occurring. Yet here we are – clear as anything – ships sailing to an inevitable conflict.”

“It is not too late, Louisa – I can take you home. A gentleman would do this thing.” Spiros wasn’t sure what that made him. _Not a gentleman._ That much was abundantly evident.

She both loved and hated that he could even suggest such a thing. “Spiros...” she flicked her gaze across, quite seriously. “ _This_ is my home now. I have made that choice – as you made yours. Do not ask me again.”

He nodded. “Your children are safe,” he added, softly. “As will mine be.”

“You should send them to Athens, sooner rather than later.”

“I know...” He agreed. “It will be the first thing I do when we return.”

“I best find out what my remaining child is up to,” she sighed. “Probably testing the limits of the propaganda and decency laws, as usual. I do wish he wouldn’t fall in with people like Miller. Their influence is – well – it’s not _helpful_.”

“This ‘Miller’ is the man that did not wear clothes? Larry – he tells me the story.”

A soft laugh left her lips. “Indeed. It was a constant risk! When I was in London I caught him wearing nothing but my aunt’s missing necklace, cigarette in hand – oblivious to any standard of common decency. Honestly, it is appalling.”

Now Spiros was laughing too, his eyes shining. In the harsh light, Louisa noticed they had the faintest flicker of green in their depths.

“At least I found the necklace...” She sighed, fussing with her hat. “My wits took a tad longer.” Distracted, Louisa tilted her head at a convoy of wild camels making their way along a ridge of sand. “There goes one creature my youngest is yet to get his hands on.”

“That is a good thing,” Spiros assured her. “Camels are not nice creatures. They spit and bite – smell terrible.”

“How do _you_ know?”

“Theo – he tell me. Never buy camel. I thinks he had bad experience with them.”

“There’s a story in there somewhere...” Louisa was sure of it.


	13. Chapter 13

Corfu was a tiny island. A blip in the world – or a _puddle of paradise_ as Larry had once tried to scam the readers of the Daily Mail into believing. Approaching its ramshackle port, Louisa couldn’t help but lean unwisely against the ferry’s railing if only to creep a fraction closer to the shore. It was almost as though it had its own sound – a rhythm that interrupted the sea.

“Why are you nervous, Spiros?” She asked, pulling back from the view as he stepped behind her, carrying her suitcases. He set them onto the deck then continued his façade of concern. She’d seen that face on him many times over the years, usually directed at the arrival of a dubious house guest.

Spiros’ smile was as lopsided as his hat. “I return from England with my mistress...” He replied sheepishly, as if that was reason enough.

Louisa grinned indecently and turned so that Corfu loomed at her back. “Oh _Spiros_...” Her voice dragged his name affectionately. “Two things. One – everybody has known for years about us even if we didn’t.” A confession which only served to make Spiros blush beneath his dark skin – glance down at his shoes then slowly drag his eyes up with a mischievous glint. “And secondly – you mustn’t call me that in public for it stirs things I’d rather not say...” She had never been a ‘mistress’ before. It all sounded rather exciting. Louisa stepped forward to kiss his cheek chastely, softening his worries. Slowly, she was getting used to the idea that she was allowed to touch him, to hold his hand and lean against him without reason. He still called her, ‘Mrs Durrells’ more often than not and that was perfectly _fine._

“The day is so beautiful,” he said instead, as she drew away. “I forget that there is war. Twice in a lifetime. It is not right.”

Louisa took his hand and dragged him to the rail so that they could both watch Corfu approach. “Let’s just hope, shall we, that it never gets this far.”

*~*~*

To Louisa’s surprise there was an ad hoc welcoming party assembled on the jetty. Theo, of course, led the charge chaperoned by Mary. She was an elegant woman, taller than Louisa remembered with an oval face, generous symmetrical features, a slight but strong figure and long hair which she left flowing past her shoulders. Larry was there, a tangled mess of half-thought out clothes as usual. Nancy waited a step behind him, as though she’d been forcibly dragged down to the pier. Doctor Petridis and his wife Florence tried to wave but were immediately interrupted by their screaming infant. Last but far from least was Thunder – who yapped joyfully, tugging at the leash Sven attempted to hold, despite the dog running circles around his legs.

Having not _officially_ announced their relationship to anyone, it was slightly odd to be greeted by a flutter of applause. Spiros, in particular, looked as though he might leap into the sea to avoid the embarrassment.

“What on Earth are you all doing here?” Louisa smiled, and started embracing people at random before kneeling down to Thunder, scrubbing the puppy’s tummy.

Spiros found himself shaking hands to the sound of muttered congratulations, particularly Theo who harboured a knowing look.

“About time, Spiros,” Theo added, finally letting go.

“I have no idea what you are speaking about...” Spiros replied, even though Theo lofted his eyebrow and both of them chuckled a little. Spiros wasn’t entirely foolish. All women had their confidante’s and Theo was Louisa’s. He simply had to accept that the other man knew _things_ that he could only guess at. It was easiest simply to assume that Theo knew absolutely everything and work from there.

Sven held Louisa for a long time when it was finally his turn. Whatever had transpired between them it had left genuine affection in its wake. Something intangible between friendship and romance. _“Have you told him yet?”_ He whispered against her ear.

“ _Sh...”_ Louisa hushed him firmly,  under the guise of a fleeting kiss to his cheek.

Larry sized Spiros up. Then, as Spiros offered his hand for a gentlemanly handshake, Larry slapped the poor taxi driver so hard across the face that Spiros bent over double in confusion. The sound was loud enough to turn several heads of disembarking passengers. Louisa’s eyes went wide – her hand covering her mouth in shock as she raced to Spiros with a bewildered look to her child.

“Larry!” She scorned sharply, while her arm went around Spiros’ shoulders, comforting him. He’d already recovered, straightening up and holding his cheek. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“That-” Larry insisted, towards Spiros, “-is for making my mother cry.”

“Larry...” Louisa repeated sternly, under her breath. She was mortified!

“And this-” Larry continued, stepping in graciously to give Spiros a proper hug, “-is for loving her.”

“You should have hit me harder, Mr Larrys,” Spiros insisted, as Larry pulled back. “I deserve it. For many reasons.”

“Oh _both of you_ , just – stop it.” Louisa insisted, separating them.

“And what of my siblings, mother?” Larry recovered, folding his arms. “Did you sell them off at auction for a reasonable price? We could certainly do with the money of which there is – ah – _none,_ last time I checked.”

“They are all perfectly _fine_ ,” she assured Larry. “Leslie is a little disheartened that the Airforce won’t let him shoot anything but honestly I’m rather pleased that he didn’t qualify – please don’t tell him that, though. He won’t like it. He’s got a bit of ah – what is it?”

“Hangup?”

“That’s it. He’s very sensitive to rejection but in this case I believe it is for the best.” She had heard some absolutely _terrible_ statistics coming out of the press about pilots. The further her son was away from the pilot seat the better.

“Even _if_ I wrote to Leslie, and that is a very big ‘if’ for I am immensely busy, we both know he wouldn’t bother to read my letters,” Larry pointed out, probably truthfully. “Or Margo for that matter. And Gerry – well, literacy isn’t high on Gerry’s list of skills.”

“Be kinder to your siblings,” Louisa warned him. “And we’re working on Gerry’s reading skills. He may surprise you. Hello dear...” She added, picking Nancy out from the line. There wasn’t much affection to be reciprocated where Nancy was concerned. The poor girl was pale and vague as ever. Honestly Louisa thought there was something a little bit wrong with her – either that or she existed under the permanent haze of too much drink and too little food. “Go on, all of you – stop fussing around. We’ll meet at the Whitehouse later, yes? I heard there was some kind of event going on...” And so it was arranged.

Weeks ago, Spiros had parked his taxi in the shade of the cypress hedge and it was still there, untouched save for the shed needles left covering the bonnet and seats. They swept them out of the way with their hands, tossing bundles of them outside to join the thousands of others on the gravel. The trees always dropped more in the heat and it had been unseasonably hot of late. Even the seasons were confused. They were due a frost and yet as Louisa leaned against the car all she saw was a sweltering layer of heat rippling across the edge of the sea.

“We go now,” Spiros nodded, sweeping the windscreen clean.

She climbed into the car beside him where they sat shoulder to shoulder as they’d always done. There was an odd familiarity to it that made them both pause. Spiros’ hand lay on the wheel and yet he hadn’t turned the engine over yet.

“This is strange, no?” He began, looking across to her softly. “First time I am not dropping you somewhere only to say goodbye.”

Louisa reached over and took his free hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “I always hated most when it was time for you to drive away. The scratch of gravel in the driveway and the empty space where your taxi used to sit. Is it wrong of me to say such a thing?”

“Only if it is wrong for me to wish never to drive away at all...” Spiros replied. “To find excuses to visit and more to stay.”

“You _didn’t_...”

“Every day...” The last confession was barely even a whisper and yet its honesty rattled them both. If only to stop herself falling into his lips, Louisa reached up and straightened his hat instead, making them both smile. “Mrs Durrells...”

“Drive us home, Spiros.”

They drove to Hugh’s olive plantation. Set in the hills, it was certainly further away from the village than Louisa’s old house. She immediately missed the sound of water and the shrill squawk of gulls. As they climbed through the mountains the humidity stuck to her skin. While the bowers of the ancient olives gave some protection from the sun, they encouraged swarms of lacebug which hummed around the car in menacing clouds – landing on the windscreen only to climb over the surface like a hoard of ants.

Soon, a familiar white gravel path cut out from the dirt. They followed it up the last hill, entering a slightly more tamed set of groves. Their gently curved limbs and neat forest of leaves showed evidence of care. Every now and then they passed workers dragging enormous nets or pruning watershoots off the trunks. Nearly at the house, they drove by the well where poor Hugh had been stabbed by his ex-love. His blood stained some of the stones. Finally, the house peeked out – rising in several, elegant storeys.

“It is a beautiful thing,” she was forced to admit, as they stepped out of the car. Its walls were a pastel pink – warm and only cracked at the very edges where a vine had taken root. “I don’t believe I noticed the other times I was here.”

“When you were dating Hugh?”

Her nose squished up cutely. “Do we call that, ‘dating’?”

He nodded in reply, as though she were crazy. Louisa had _definitely_ been dating Hugh, even if her heart wasn’t in it. “We fought a battle for you.”

“Cricket is a sport,” she corrected. “And you both played that to improve relations between English and Gr-ah...” There was no point arguing any further. “Remind me to tell Florence that she was right about you.”

“Most of my things are already inside,” he added, as they wandered to the front door. Spiros had to keep reminding himself to walk _beside_ her rather than behind, as her partner not her driver. It was a difficult habit to break but she was always looking for him, glancing in his direction if he fell a few steps too far back. “Though I may need to return to the village later on.”

“It’s all right…” She assured him, stopping on the doorstep. “I’m sure you’d like to see your children while you are there.” When he nodded softly Louisa knew she was right. She really wished that he didn’t feel the need to hide these things from her. It wasn’t as if she expected him to suddenly forget his family, especially as he had shown so much patience with hers. Gods, the more she thought about it the more she realised that Spiros had been helping her raise her children for a while now. “Go tomorrow, first thing. I’ll use the time to get a handle on this vast, rambling estate of Hugh’s. Make sure there are no surprise zoos installed down the back by Gerry while he wasn’t looking. I wouldn’t put it past Theo, you know. He’s probably here, somewhere, putting up the cages at Gerry’s behest.”

“I notice Theo has a new woman...”

“Ah – indeed. Mary.”

“Very beautiful.”

“Now – now...”

But Spiros was only playing, winking as he unlocked the front door and held it open. The inside was very – well it was very _Hugh_. Sparse and functional, like all bachelor estates with a neatness that could only come from a lack of children. The walls were painted sensible colours and all the curtains were intact, pulled back and tied with silk sashes. Spiros’ things were piled in a sad assortment in the lounge room while hers were upstairs, scattered across several guest rooms. Neither of them had the energy to face unpacking so they raided Hugh’s wine cellar and retired to the balcony on the top floor, reclining in a couple of iron lounges with frayed cushions that had seen too much sun and rain. The edges of the balcony were several inches deep in discarded olive leaves while parts of the wood had rotted and snapped but it sported a view of the sea above the canopy and captured the cool coastal breeze.

“I feel as though we have escaped,” Spiros said, glass of red in hand, “and that we will be caught any moment. I hesitate even to drink this wine.”

“Yes, it does rather feel that way,” Louisa agreed, sliding down her sunglasses to fend off the ever-present glare. “But this is the most comfortable I’ve been in weeks so if anyone is going to interrupt us, they’ll need a sledge hammer and half of Corfu to pry me off the chair.” And with that, she drank deeply of her glass and deflated, relaxing all her limbs. “Don’t forget, we have ‘a do’ at Theo and Larry’s tonight so we can’t polish off the entire cellar.”

They need not have worried about that. Within ten minutes they were dead to the world – glasses balanced precariously at the edges of their fingertips as their heads fell to the side and sleep took hold. The wildlife at Hugh’s estate was every bit as voracious, teaming in the air. If anything, the insects were more numerable and of greater variety, as brightly coloured and variable as an artist’s palette. The spiders in particular, seemed to change their mind depending on which surface they’d chosen as a haunt. Several of them were carried by the wind only to land on Spiros and continue their journey, tepidly crawling over his arm – fumbling through the sprays of dark hair on his exposed flesh until he woke with a fright, knocking them free and coating himself in wine to Louisa’s great amusement.

Louisa rescued his glass and wrapped a cloth around his arm, dragging the material up to his elbow, soaking the wine from his skin. _Silence_ had always been their form of affection and once again they found themselves watching the steadily sinking sun, saying nothing at all until reason nudged them into action. There was a party to prepare for. She bathed while Spiros fumbled through his boxes, looking for something to wear. In amongst the mismatched boxes he found a wooden crate that he didn’t recognise. Laid on top was an envelope addressed to him which he immediately opened and found the simple message:

‘ _For Spiros, from Leslie. P.S. Don’t tell mother.’_

Confused, Spiros folded the letter back into the envelope and heaved the lid off the crate. Inside, beneath a layer of old cloth, were Leslie’s beloved guns. Spiros stared.  Startled.  Leslie  _loved_ his guns more than his girlfriends. It wasn’t a few of this guns either, it was all seven of them – packed and cleaned.  Rifles, shotguns and two handguns along with ammunition. Spiros flinched, tossed the letter inside and replaced the lid swiftly. There was only one reason Leslie would bequeath his gun collection to him and it had nothing to do with sentiment. Unnerved, Spiros carried the crate out of the main area and deposited it in Hugh’s old office, slotting it in the cupboard where it would be out of the way for the time being. Despite Leslie’s warning, he had every intention of telling Louisa – just not yet. Not while there was joy to be had. They had a few weeks, surely – possibly even a month or two before they had to think about Leslie’s gift.

* ~*~*

“Theo? Bloody hell, Theo – where are you? Theo! Ah, Christ, you took your time… I’ve been trapped on this chair shouting for _ages_ like one of Gerry’s pelicans! Beak open. Wings out. That’s me.” Larry complained, half dressed. He’d been cornered in the Whitehouse’s kitchen by one of Theo’s unwelcome house guests. The enormous green tree python had coiled itself up in the centre of the floor, blocking Larry’s escape and effectively trapping him next to the stove. It was an ill-tempered thing too, hissing and raising its fanged jaws every time he thought about making a run for it. “Do you mind _terribly_ taking your pet somewhere else?”

Theo was in a state of undress, mid way through his preparations for the party. He sighed at the spectacle before him.  Anyone else might think it was odd but for them, it was a perfectly normal afternoon.  “ _How_ is  she doing that?” He asked, not expecting a reply from Larry. “Four times now.  She escapes and I do not understand.  The cage is locked. The bars are close together and the netting correct.  Unbelievable ...” He shook his head in utter dismay.

“That might be a question you should find an answer to sooner rather than later,” Larry advised. “Preferably before it pays a visit to Nancy. I might be forgiving of your slithering friend, having lived within ten feet of Gerry for more than a decade but I’d wager she’d toss it in the sea or lop its head off with a kitchen knife.”

“Yes, yes, you are probably correct,” Theo was forced to agree, kneeling down to retrieve the unhappy creature. It flicked its tongue out, hissed and coiled its tail. Theo ignored its protests and carried it off, back to safety. The snake was chasing mice – lured by their irresistible scent. It tasted them in the air and took itself on hunts particularly near clusters of books though Theo wasn’t sure he should share that piece of information with Larry. A snake on the loose was one thing, a plague of mice was slightly more alarming. The tiny balls of fur liked nothing better than to cuddle up in bed with humans and chew at their faces.

“Do you think mother was acting strange at the ferry?” Larry asked, a few hours later as he helped Theo with his ludicrous red and white spotted bow tie.

“Define _strange_.”  It was a bit of a loose term where the Durrells were concerned. Theo lifted his chin as Larry tugged at the fabric. He was fussing with his appearance more than usual tonight and for Theo that was quite an achievement. It was entirely possible he was the most fastidious man on the island.

L arry wasn’t sure. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It was more a general thing than something specific.”

“She is in love,” Theo pointed out quietly.

“Nah...” Larry waved that comment off flippantly. “She’s been in love with Spiros for _years_. This is different.”

“You should not have hit Spiros.” Theo added. “He tries very hard to be a good man even if he doesn’t always succeed.”

“Maybe but he made mother miserable. Oh God, what was that?” He turned at the sound of something dreadful.

“That is your wife being sick again,” Theo replied, slightly sternly for Larry was not nearly as attentive as he ought to be with poor Nancy. “She is with child, you should take her to see the doctor before too long. Not all women are natural with this sort of thing.”

“Dr. Petridis is coming tonight, I’ll ask him then.”

There was no point arguing with Larry’s logic so Theo said instead, “You should make a point of telling your mother. It is her first grandchild, after all. Better she hears the news from you.”

“You are probably right,” Larry agreed. “Women are funny about this sort of thing. If you whisper the word, ‘grandmother’ they go into a sort of _fit_ as though you’d sucked the remaining decades of their life from them. I don’t see what difference it’ll make to her this time. She’s off swanning around doing things I’d rather not think about with the local taxi driver.”

As far as Theo could tell, Larry remained remarkably  _aloof_ . It was probably a coping mechanism. His life was changing fast. Married with a child on the way and no solid, reliable means of support was enough to send anyone into a temporary state of denial. At least Louisa had returned. That gave Theo a degree of hope that she’d be able to talk some sense into her boy. Where Leslie had tried very hard to be a good  father despite his difficult circumstances Larry – well – Larry almost didn’t acknowledge that he  _was_ a father.

* ~*~*

“Deja-vu...” Louisa breathed, walking along the narrow path by the water’s edge, heading for the Whitehouse.

“Almost,” Spiros replied, because this time Louisa was holding onto his arm as they walked and instead of tears, there were nothing but smiles. He felt her press into his side and his heart melted a little more. She had him knots – reason, sense, logic – he couldn’t tell which way was up any more. His compass was spinning out of control and all he could do was keep a hold of her and hope for the best. Perhaps that is how love was supposed to be. A whirlwind. “There is no music. This I will fix when we arrive.”

“Happy songs, Spiros,” Louisa insisted.

“Yes-es, happy songs.”

Beside them, fish plopped in and out of the shallow water as they were chased between the pylons. It was midway through the tidal cycle, neither low nor high. The sun had a ways to go yet before it vanished and the only indication that the day was on the way out was the slight golden edge a few of the clouds had taken on. The ambled across the horizon like fragments of spun silk and every bit as fleeting, threatening to unravel at the whisper of a breeze.

“Thunder!” Louisa squealed happily, as the grey puppy raced out of nowhere, bounding along in a slightly manic way with its pink tongue out and ears flopping around. Its tail wagged excessively, batting the air.

“Please – please keep a hold of him!” Sven called out helplessly, racing in from the road. He looked as though he’d run the entire way to the house on foot in chase of Thunder. The bit of rope he called a lead was dangling in his hand.

Spiros nodded at Sven as he approached. “Afternoons Sven.”

“Afternoon Spiros.” Then Sven had to stop, doubling over in gasping breaths. “This – this dog it is – quite – mad.” He complained. Thunder whimpered in the most adorable way possible with enormous eyes and the sweetest disposition rendering it impossible to discipline him. “He is always like this.”

“Unfortunately Thunder was raised by Gerry,” Louisa admitted. “A parting gift.” Or a burden, depending on how you looked at the situation.

“Explains a great deal,” Sven agreed, finally finding the strength to slip the rope around Thunder before straightening up. Thunder sat perfectly at his feet – angelic. “I suppose I am quite a mess now, yes? Yes… I know it. You need not say.”

Louisa took pity on him, taking the leash from Sven. “Go on inside, I’m sure between Theo and Larry, they can find you something to wear and – and a comb.”

Thunder’s good behaviour lasted about three seconds before he heard a fish splash out of the water and tried to toss himself into the bay. Louisa swiped him off the ground and held the struggling creature in her arms. “You always were a terror...” She cooed at the puppy. Spiros leaned in and petted it affectionately.  Thunder seemed to take a liking to him so Louisa handed the puppy over into his arms  before they both continued on toward the house.

“ _That_ is an amazing bow-tie, Theo...” Louisa exclaimed, as Theo strutted out of the house dressed to the nines. He looked down nervously at the flare of red and white with a flicker of concern.

“Do you think it is too much? It’s too much… I knew it. Larry – he let me put it on-”

“Calm down...” Louisa put her hand on his arm. She looked over her shoulder and nodded at Spiros, who gave her a wink. “Inside with you – you can tell me all about it.”

I nside, Louisa sat Theo down in the kitchen and stood over him, her hands firmly on her hips. “Theo,” she insisted sternly, “what is going on with you? I’ve never seen you like this. This – this – well, it’s as though all your animals have escaped and are terrorising the town.  Is this about Mary?”

“How do you know these things…” Theo replied, glumly.

“Because I’m not stupid...” Louisa sighed, and dragged a chair over so that she could sit with him. “Is ah – that a snake?” She asked, in a moment of distraction as she caught sight of a green body sliding around the flour jars.

“Yes.”

Louisa accepted that more easily than most and continued.  She reached across to him and tugged on the edges of his beautiful bow-tie, straightening it for him before dusting down the shoulders of his jacket. There were cobwebs all over him for some reason. “ You’ve spent all your life studying the animal kingdom,” Louisa started, squeezing his arm, “humans, as you told my youngest, aren’t any different. That makes you the expert.”

“And yet I know _nothing_ ,” Theo complained. “The mating rituals of birds are straight forward. There is costume, dance and music. Frogs declare their intentions from the bottom of wells and females reply with deafening noise. Cicadas grate their wings together and spiders weave sprawling designs in their webs. What do humans do? _Who knows._ It is a mystery. Does a smile mean politeness or affection? Is a walk just a walk or is it a stolen moment? I do not understand. It is madness. _What_ – what if she does not come?”

“Mary?” He nodded sadly. Louisa rolled her eyes and wondered if she’d ever been this disagreeable in her folly with Spiros. Probably. “You’re being silly,” she insisted. “And irrational, which is not like you at all. Human men might find mating rituals confusing but I assure you that women know exactly what’s going on. Now Theo, what’s really got you worried hmm?” She waited as his hand dove into his pocket and dragged out a small silver engagement ring. It only had a little diamond set into four claws. “Oh – _right_. Gosh, that was quick.”

“Too fast – yes, that’s what Larry says.”

“Well, Larry can hardly talk...” Louisa tutted. “But who are we to say, Theo. You’ve always known exactly what you want to do.” She took the ring from him carefully and held it to the light. It was a very beautiful, delicate and _old_ thing.

“My grandmother’s,” he explained, which only served to worry him more. “Love is a _nightmare_ ,” he complained. “I don’t know how you manage it – and you had three of them! This is a terrible idea.”

“Come here...” Louisa wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dragged poor Theo toward her chest, cradling him firmly against his worries. “You must really like her,” Louisa said, rocking him gently, “to be this upset about everything. That’s a _good_ thing,” she tried to assure him. “As two very wise gentlemen told me not so long ago, advice is pointless in situations like this. You’ll have to decide for yourself what you wish to do but whatever that is, Theo, everything will be okay – and if not, well – we’ll drink the rest of Leslie’s liqueur – yes?”

A fter a little while spent fixing Theo up, he finally took her arm and, quite seriously, said, “Louisa, please go and speak to Larry. He has something to tell you that I think he may not offer on his own.”

*~*~*

Louisa emerged from the Whitehouse feeling positively queasy. In response, she hunted down a glass of red wine and cradled it close to her chest as she sidestepped the growing party of revellers assembling on the jetty. She was starting to get the feeling that this event had absolutely nothing to do with her and Spiros returning to Corfu and a lot more to do with Larry’s incessant need for adoration. At least, that’s what she gleaned from a table with his latest book on display.

She found Spiros in the shadows at the side of the house with his head buried in a bush. He startled when she tapped him on the shoulder and levelled a curious look at him. “Mrs Durrells...” Spiros straightened up. “I uh – Thunder – he escapes me.”

Louisa’s lips cracked into a smile. “Yes. I would not worry about it too much, Spiros.”

“Sven will be very unhappy with me that I have lost him.”

“I promise, that dog is never far from affection. He’ll show up long before Sven comes looking for him.” Louisa frowned and picked a leaf out of Spiros’ hair. “Can we go for a walk? I’ve something to tell you.”

They decided to stroll toward the water, stepping first onto the wide jetty where the party was assembling. Although Spiros wasn’t currently playing his guitar the record player was left set up, churning out contentious jazz. There was a startling number of people arriving, many of which Louisa had never seen before. They stood in groups entertained by Theo, who passed between them. No doubt they were members of his various professional groups who’d been convinced to come to Corfu on one last adventure before the world locked its doors. Larry had a similar bustle of Europeans which he entertained with wild stories that may or may not have a basis in truth. The rest were there for the atmosphere and some, even, to get a glimpse of the village gossip.

“See?” Louisa said, as they stepped off the deck and onto the long shadow of the jetty. “It is not so bad as you imagined.” Spiros glanced over his shoulder and saw a few heads that had been following their progress, turn swiftly away. “Theo intends to distract them all with a wedding,” she continued. “That is, of course, if Mary agrees. He seems keen on asking her this evening.”

“He is a very good man, Mrs Durrells,” Spiros replied. “I have known in long time. Always, he is honourable. Always – he does the best for people. For a while I thought he might marry you.”

Louisa shook her head with amusement. “Why does everyone think that? In any case, I had my eye on someone else...” They shared a lingering gaze where the temptation to let her mind wander into dangerous territory strengthened. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting from Spiros. A proposal of her own? He had barely been divorced a week. The very last thing she wanted to do was manoeuvre him into one.

“Sven.”

“What?” Louisa was taken off guard. She’d entirely forgotten what they were discussing.

“You had your eye on Sven,” he clarified, incorrectly assuming her misunderstanding was to do with his English rather than her distraction.

“Oh _yes_!” She recovered, with a beaming smile.

They were nearing the end of the jetty, past the shadow of the cypress. It had been several hours since they’d arrived with the sun, well and truly lagging at the last cusp of the horizon. There was more darkness than light in the sky and the tide was high. The entire lower half of the sky was painted gold while above a navy expanse dotted with stars stretched out over the dome. She wasn’t sure what had happened to the moon, unless it was hiding behind the imposing mountain range at the back of the Whitehouse.

“I am going to miss my old house,” Louisa confessed, a little sadly. “Hugh was very generous to gift us use of his, do not mistake me.” And actually, when she thought about it, she didn’t know where they’d be without his generosity. Probably sleeping in one of Theo’s spare rooms if she was perfectly honest. “But there were a lot of memories in the old house. I hate to think of someone else living there now.”

He rubbed her back gently as they came to a stop. “No one has taken it yet. It sits there, by the water, alone except for Gerry’s pelicans, of course.”

She found some levity in the thought of his animals harassing anyone that dared stay there. “Don’t forget the scorpions. We never did find them.”

“What is it that you wish to tell me?” He asked. After all, she had brought him all the way to the edge of the water, as far away from the rest of the party as they could reasonably get without arousing suspicion.

“Ah – well, I’m not really quite sure what to think of it,” she confessed, taking Spiros’ hands in hers. She looked down at them, weaving their fingers together as if she needed the comfort of his touch. He was always warm against her skin, it made her gravitate towards him, even when they’d only been ‘friends’. “Though it is inevitable. Actually, I’m a little surprised it didn’t happen sooner, the way things have been going.”

Spiros was – none the wiser. “Are we still talking about Theo?”

“No...” she whispered.

Spiros’ confusion deepened. Louisa was eyeing him with a mixture of intensity, concern, affection and anxiety he’d not often witnessed in her gaze. Instantly protective, he stepped closer. “Please, tell me, what troubles you?”

Her eyes drifted to the horizon and all that lay beyond. “I am not sure the world is a fit place for another child…”

If Spiros wanted to speak he wasn’t able to – half his heart being lodged at the back of his throat. _Surely_ she didn’t mean to say-

“Larry is not ready to be a father and I’m not keen on being a _grandmother_.”

It was as though the world had fractured slightly around Spiros and now he was left to slot it back together without anyone noticing. He had let his imagination wander and he didn’t dare let Louisa catch on. Ignoring his racing heart, Spiros lifted their entwined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly. “Still I think congratulations, yes? Another Durrell on the way.”

“And this time I am reasonably certain it’s actually a Durrell. Poor Leslie… He’s still pining over Daphne in his own way.”

“Then he has not heard that the father of the child ran off before the wedding.”

“Oh _no_...” Louisa shook her head. “Don’t you dare tell him, Spiros.” Then she grew distracted again, mulling the word, _‘_ _grandmother’_ around on her lips as if it were a knife across her skin.

“Are you okay?” Spiros reached for her face but Louisa untangled herself with an uncharacteristic flinch. “Louisa?” He asked again, but she left him standing on the jetty.


	14. Chapter 14

Spiros faced the water, alone and quiet as he watched the sunset play out. Track after track of joyful music filled the air until the record ended and someone found another – Larry probably, for it was even more rogue than before. The sky fell into a state of darkness and, without a moon, the Whitehouse became the sole source of light. A beacon for varrying sized moths whose wings fluttered into view, flashing between silver and gold before they found a window to settle on. There was a sizeable force of people on the jetty and they only thickened with more arriving on foot, walking in gabbling clusters. A lot of foreigners congregated, locked in boisterous revelry and dressed in slim, expensive suits with outrageous flares of colour. Spiros yearned to immerse himself in the fray and so began the walk back along the jetty.

“Well, well, well...” Spiros paused, at the emergence of his four legged friend. Thunder bundled along, following a trail of ants with his nose to the wooden planks. Eventually the puppy noticed Spiros, perked up and trotted over for a pat. “Mister Sven will be happy to see you.”

Not wanting to risk losing Thunder again, Spiros decided to carry the puppy the rest of the way. This made Spiros an instant hit with almost every woman on the jetty, all of whom flocked toward him to shower affection on the very receiving Thunder. Everything was bright smiles and fragments of conversation with the sticky scent of champagne following the _‘pop’_ of several bottles.

“Why does that never happen to me?” Sven lamented, watching the spectacle from the front step of the Whitehouse. Louisa sat beside him, drinking wine. Spiros was a like a queen bee at the centre of the party, much to Larry’s annoyance.

“Because you’re not Spiros,” Louisa replied simply. Sven hung his head in dismay. “Don’t take that the wrong way, Sven. You are perfectly – well...” She tried to work out how to say, _gorgeous_ without a flutter of guilt. “Spiros is a beacon for attention, that is all. The rest of us, well, I’d rather not be petted by a hundred strangers. Let’s put it that way.”

Sven tilted his head slightly as he watched a few wandering hands touch something _other_ than the puppy in Spiros’ arms. “You’re probably right, this is much safer. Drinking wine on the step.”

“Is that one of Theo’s jackets?” Louisa tugged at the navy cotton covering his arm. It had a faint white stripe through it and a pocket that was in desperate want of a kerchief.

“And Larry’s pants,” he added, nodding at the white slacks that were slightly too big at the waist and too short on the leg. Oddly, it left him resembling a sailor. All he needed was the hat. “Has he asked yet?”

Louisa’s brow furrowed, her gaze shifting between Sven and Spiros. Did he mean…?

“Theo?” Sven clarified. “I heard he was going to make a rather indecent proposal tonight or have I misheard the gossip?”

“No. No you are quite correct,” she relaxed. “But I fear by the time he gets around to asking everyone will know, including Mary.”

Another wandering female hand found its way to Spiros’ thigh and Sven felt as though he should do something approaching gallant. “Should I go and rescue your – actually, what do we call Spiros?”

Louisa shook her head helplessly and leaned into Sven’s shoulder. “God, it’s all such a mess, isn’t it? This morning he called me his, ‘mistress’. There are times when I cannot tell if his choice of words are deliberately designed to make me blush or from a genuine lack of vocabulary...”

Sven kissed the top of her head and took her glass of wine away from her, setting it on the ground beyond her reach. He wasn’t blind to Louisa’s _slight_ issue with alcohol and by her easy mood, he’d guess this wasn’t her first glass of the evening. Dating Spiros was not likely to help with that. “I think you are Spiros’ _everything._ ”

“Trust you to be so eloquent with romance. You were always very persuasive when it came to words.”

“I am certain Spiros is persuasive in _other_ ways. Ow...” Sven recoiled as she prodded him sharply.

“That’s not to say you’re wrong only – well, I’m far too English to discuss such things. Don’t you bloody start either. You’ve given Spiros more than one longing look. Behave or I’ll tell him.”

Sven lifted his hands innocently. “I’d like you to know that I refused to take part in the betting pool surrounding you two.”

“Thank you.” Louisa closed her eyes, her face still against Sven’s shoulder. He was wiry and firm beneath her cheek and smelled like dust. “Am I _old_ , Sven?”

Sven froze. It was only one of the most frightening questions a male could be confronted with in his lifetime equalled only by, ‘how do I look?’. “You are young and gorgeous,” he assured her, firmly.

Louisa let out a heavy, laboured sigh.

“Is it because of Larry’s news?”

“Partly...” She confessed. “It’s not _just_ that. As you know, I met Spiros’ wife, Sven-”

“-ex wife-”

“-and she’s _beautiful_ – far more so than me despite what you all say. I have eyes and they can see perfectly well.” She shook her head, unable to shift the ghost of the other woman. “Younger than me too, by a good ten years… One day, probably soon, Spiros is going to realise the terrible error he’s made. Men always do, don’t they? It’s inevitable. The allure of a young woman overrides all else. What if I’m only an infatuation? A – a _dalliance_ because he got bored?”

“Louisa – stop...” Sven nudged her off his shoulder and forced her to look at him. He held her there for several minutes before he said, “You should tell Spiros.” Louisa tried to turn away, “ _Hey_...” He raised his hand, gently cupping her cheek when she tried to escape him. “I promise. Everything will be okay. Besides,” Sven left the word hang in the air for a while before he tagged on, “you left me for Spiros – so now I feel old.”

Despite all her fears, Louisa dissolved into laughter, nearly crying from relief. “No – I left you for Hugh.”

“Gee _thanks_.”

“No, we mustn’t be mean to Hugh.” Louisa insisted.

More laughter, loud enough now to draw Spiros’ attention. He could hear her above the roar of the party. Spiros watched her edge closer to Sven where they sat together on the step outside the front door of the Whitehouse. There was a bright glow from all the lanterns burning in the kitchen back-lighting them like a halo. She leaned in, kissing the edge of Sven’s lips very slightly. Sven turned his head and kissed her hair, whispering in her ear before Louisa stood and left him sitting on the steps. Spiros probably should have felt a flicker of jealousy, watching her kiss another man but he was utterly shocked to find nothing of the sort stir. _Relief_ was closer – at seeing her smile again. He decided to roam over to join Sven on the step after Louisa had moved off to rejoin the party.

“This, I thinks, is yours...” Spiros opened, nodding at Thunder.

Sven knew Spiros must have seen Louisa’s affection toward him and decided to address it immediately so that it didn’t turn into a misunderstanding. “Spiros – about Louisa and I...”

Spiros only shook his head before Sven could finish. “I am not her jailer – nor would I ever wish to be. She is exactly...” Then there was an almost vacant demeanour to Spiros’ eyes as he followed Louisa through the crowd – a glimpse here and there of her. “She is _perfect_ as she is.”

“Gosh...” Sven was forced to admit, taking stock of Spiros. “We all knew you were keen on her but you’re a lovesick fool if ever I saw one. Here...” Sven handed Spiros Louisa’s glass to finish off. “A toast to love.”

Their glasses clinked together merrily. “Is there something wrong that I should know about?” Spiros added, as they drank together with poor little Thunder falling asleep in Spiros’ arms.

“Women are very strange about their age,” Sven offered, carefully. “Louisa is no different. She thinks you are this – well, young, handsome creature and-”

“I am older than her.”

“Trust me, that makes no difference,” Sven assured the other man.

“But she said, ‘handsome’?” The word alone made Spiros’ grin expand impossibly across his face.

“That _isn’t_ helping.” Sven decided to drink the rest of his glass and pour another before continuing. “A simple man would say Louisa is ever so slightly _jealous_ – of your wife.” Now Spiros was properly confused in an almost comedic way. That, more than anything, gave Sven the proof he needed that there was nothing at all for Louisa to worry about when it came to Spiros Americanos.

“I – I have a question for her but I cannot ask it yet,” Spiros confirmed. “Technically I am still married. We are waiting for the papers – then I must sign them. I am hoping they will be at the house tomorrow.”

Sven shifted a fraction closer to Spiros. “Are you going to marry Louisa?” He asked, very softly so that there was no chance of them being overheard.

There was no hesitation from Spiros. “Of courses,” he replied, running his thumb around the edge of the glass where a trace of her lipstick had been left behind. “I would marry her right now if I could. Do you think she will say, ‘yes’?”

“Bloody hell, Spiros,” Sven replied, entirely good naturedly. “The woman left her children for you. Her actions are her answer.”

Spiros swallowed hard at that confession. “It does not feel real,” he admitted. “How is it the British say? Out of grasp – like water… I imagine her slipping away.”

“She won’t slip away unless you let her,” Sven assured the other man. There was an air of melancholy about Sven – more than simple longing.

“How is Viggo getting on in Europe?”

Spiros may as well have shoved a knife into Sven’s chest. He nearly lost hold of the wine, the glass slipping in his hands. He shook his head wordlessly and looked up past the glow of the building to the ink-filled sky beyond. “That’s the thing, Spiros...” Sven whispered, unable to keep his emotion caged entirely. Even now he could feel the locks slipping on his heart. “Viggo is _dead_.”

*~*~*

Louisa noticed Mary leaning against the Whitehouse’s side wall, arms folded and one leg lifted back, resting on the cement. Her long navy dress rippled in the breeze, kicking up at the slightly frilled edge. She had chosen a dark sort of a corner, away from the lights and fuss of the party. The woman was incredibly pensive – lost in her thoughts as the world continued to shift around her. Louisa hesitated before approaching, wondering if she should leave the woman alone. Before she could make a decision either way she was intercepted by Doctor Petridis – who looked as though he’d been dragged through hours of trauma.

“Evening,” Louisa nodded warmly at him.

“Good evening, Mrs Durrell,” he replied, wiping his brow and leaning rather alarmingly against the sturdy trunk of an old cypress.

Ordinarily Louisa would have cautioned him against it – for fear of being overrun by bugs but the Doctor genuinely needed the support.

“Everything all right? Only – this is a party but you appear to have been at a marathon…”

The Doctor shook his head. “We do not get a lot of sleep at the moment,” he admitted. “Our child is – difficult… But what am I saying? You raised _four_.” Even the thought of that alarmed the Doctor so much that he rubbed his temple.

“I was lucky,” Louisa insisted. “Most of mine were easy – except for Leslie but that was on account of the heat and hardly his fault. All my troubles came later when they learned how to walk and, in Larry’s case, _talk_.”

At least he laughed at that. “Florence misses Margo terribly. She had a gift with our child. We’ve barely had two hours of peace since she left.”

“Margo is putting her talent to good use,” Louisa assured him. “She has a whole boarding house full of children to keep an eye on. I dare say it will stretch her talents but she’s at the right age for it.”

The Doctor sobered at the news. Every day more of the world’s troubles crept into their lives. At the moment it was a fragment of conversation here and there. “I heard about these places,” he admitted. “England is taking in Europe’s displaced children. One wonders how they will ever be reunited with their families – if there is anyone left.”

“They are alive, that is the important thing. Do you have family in Europe?”

“No. Florence and our little one are my family. Actually, everything in the world that I care about is right here, on Corfu.”

“You are very fortunate,” she assured him, warmly. “I’ve scattered mine to the wind.”

“And wise it was of you to do so.” He held her arm for a moment.

“Doctor Petridis – I hesitate to ask because I know you especially hate to work at events like this but-”

He straightened up, eyeing her curiously. “Is there something the matter, Mrs Durrell? You have never come to me before – unless it was on account of one of your children.”

A slight smile twisted the edge of her lips. “They were creative in their injuries, I think you’ll agree. Anyway, it is only a small thing I wish to ask about, if you have time?”

“For you? Always. In an hour or so,” he suggested. “There’s a room inside I have been using for everyone else tonight and I can assure you that none of them had your politeness. I don’t know, maybe I should give in to their will and hold open sessions – cut a profit if I am to be thus enslaved.”

“Of course, in return I can mind your tiny nightmare. As you say, I’ve had plenty of practice.”

*~*~*

“We did not meet properly earlier...” Louisa edged toward Mary. “I am Louisa Durrell – mother of the rather regrettable Larry.”

“Spiros’ secret English lover...” Mary replied, with remarkably little accent on her English. It was obviously she had spent many years living abroad.

“Oh _gosh_ , don’t put it like that!” But Louisa simply couldn’t find it in herself to be anything other than pleased with the title. It showed, with a smile on her lips as she leaned against the wall beside the other woman. The concrete was rough through the thin fabric of her dress but wonderfully warm after languishing in the sun all day. An enormous moth clung to the stone nearby, very slowly opening and closing its patterned wings. “The worst kept secret on Corfu, might be more appropriate.”

Mary warmed to the other woman’s flippancy. “I think we must forgive a small island for making news out of its limited offering. Before you say anything else,” Mary added, raising her hand gently to stop Louisa interrupting, “I should explain that I am an old friend of Spiros’ wife. If that makes you uncomfortable, I understand.”

The confession sent Louisa’s stomach into a few knots but it was hardly sensible to blame anyone for a friendship. On an island as small as Corfu, surely this was inevitable? For Theo’s sake, she endeavoured to push any unwelcome feelings aside. “No, it’s perfectly all right. Actually, that is probably a good thing. A bridge, so to speak. Despite what you may or may not heard, I dread the idea of animosity with her, especially as Spiros has two children to consider. I’m not saying we’ll all be great friends but at the moment I’ll settle for the pretence of civility.” Her curiosity clawed its way to the surface. She knew so little about Spiros’ wife and he was reluctant to raise the topic with him for obvious reasons. “Is – is she okay… I mean, all things considered?”

Mary took her time, considering whether or not she should reply honestly. Eventually she reasoned with herself that if Theo was fond of Louisa then she should at least begin with an inclination toward openness as they were destined to be in each other’s company for many years to come. “I believe she is _not surprised_.”

Louisa didn’t know what to make of that reply. “Oh.”

“Mrs Durrell-”

“-Louisa-”

“-you will hear this eventually so you may as well hear it from me. Spiros has a reputation – one that he earned in youth. It was not exactly _untrue_.”

Louisa had an inkling of her meaning. “If you are saying what I think you’re saying, it certainly explains a few of the looks I’ve seen him receive around town.”

“To be fair, up until this point he had genuinely settled down with his wife. I am sure you already know that when she fell pregnant it was an accident. Neither of them meant to end up married but it was not a terrible match and they grew into it over the years. They both tried to make it work and it may have even survived if you had not appeared.”

Blunt… Louisa felt positively sick.

“That is not to say,” Mary amended, seeing Louisa pale at her words, “that the same thing might have happened to her. At the end of the day, they did not love each other – that is no secret. But it is a terrible shock all the same to dismantle a family. Give things time. Perhaps you’ll get your civility, Louisa. Or maybe not...”

“I guess – thank you for the honesty...” Louisa shifted awkwardly. It should have been a great surprise to her. There had been plenty of hints regarding Spiros’ generous adoration of women in his youth. Indeed, it was part of his appeal but that didn’t make Louisa any less wary. “ _How_ notorious was Spiros?”

Mary shrugged her shoulder lightly and averted her eyes in a suggestive manner. It took Louisa a moment to catch on.

“Oh… _Wonderful_.” Louisa grit her teeth. The woman standing next to her was obviously one of _many_ that knew what it was like to be the object of his attentions.

“A very long time ago, as I said.” Mary clarified. “Things were different back then. Summer romances are neither here nor there. On Corfu, it is always Summer.”

Well at this point Louisa was seriously considering fabricating a few of those simply so she didn’t feel left out. She had met her husband young which left little room for whatever it was that was going on in Corfu.

“Please,” Mary continued, “I would prefer it if Theo did not hear that last part… He is a good man and I find I rather adore him.”

“That, I can promise. I should thank you, I suppose, for finally telling me the truth. I’ve been here for nearly four years and no one shares anything of interest beyond the price of bread or – or the latest festival in the village.” Louisa’s stomach lay in clumps of panic while she tried very hard not to think of Spiros’ locked in an embrace with the woman standing beside her – or indeed any of the women who appeared to trail him around the party. Maybe she was simply another in a long line of affairs…

“Have you seen Mr. Stephanides?”

“Theo?” Louisa extended her gaze to the outskirts of the party. “Not for an hour or so. He is definitely here somewhere.”

Mary shook her head. “He has a question for me but how does he expect to ask it if he spends all his time hiding?”

Louisa managed a smile this time. Gossip travelled _very_ fast on Corfu. “You’ll probably find him inside. His hiding place of choice is the sitting room by the window, there...” She pointed. “Although be warned, he’s probably sharing company with a snake.”

“I have been warned of such things,” Mary admitted. “I find I do not mind his proclivities. A love of animals is less trouble than say, a love of gambling.”

“He is not bad at cricket either.”

Louisa and Mary were not exactly comfortable with each other but they did try to find pleasantries. What else could they do if they were to share the wonderful Theo – an object of affection for both of them? Eventually Mary mustered the courage and wandered over to the house, timidly stepping inside in search of Theo. Louisa tried to steady her breath. She couldn’t help being nervous for Theo. _‘_ _Oh please, a little bit of luck...’_ she begged the heavens.

And what of Spiros? Was any of it truly a surprise? Did it change anything that had transpired between them… Sense told her _no_ but suspicion kept one eye open. Speaking of Spiros, he appeared to have wandered off. Louisa made a conscious decision not to look for him and chose instead to return to the thrall of celebration, hunt out her son and parent him into being responsible.

*~*~*

Hours later, Louisa heard Spiros’ voice at edge of the party, soft enough that at first she thought she may have imagined it. Curiosity drew her away from Florence, who’d ensconced herself next to the record player. Most of the people were centred on the jetty while a scattering of couples had made it as far as the water’s edge near the forest. They sought privacy. Stolen kisses and quiet embraces. Now that Louisa had slipped into the world of lust and love she saw it repeated everywhere.

Spiros’ voice grew louder and she could hear that it was raised in fury. Creeping along the path in the darkness, Louisa paused at the trunk of an enormous cypress. Old and weary, its branches groaned in the wind and occasionally cracked. Needles shed like rain, covering the ground in a whispering carpet that never quite settled. Spiros was standing on the corpse of an ancient pier. All that remained of it were a few black wooden stakes and a cross-board. Moored awkwardly beside it was what looked like a small fishing boat but it was difficult to tell with nothing but starlight. Spiros was raging in Greek at the three men inside the boat, waving his arm aggressively in what Louisa assumed was a firm instruction to go away.

A few steps closer and Louisa noticed that the boat had a sticker on its side. She’d seen it before, in a couple of newspapers and out the front of one of the buildings in the main Corfu town. Some form of political organisation or government body – she couldn’t quite remember. Regardless of who they were, the three men were shouting back at Spiros with just as much fervour. Usually Spiros was able to holler down most people but he was only _just_ managing to hold the high ground against these strangers. Louisa could feel the tension in the air and on the water. Whatever it was that they wanted to do, Spiros simply refused to let them do it. Spiros leaned even further over the water, jabbing his finger furiously at the air. He pointed at the Whitehouse – then the men in the boat. There were more threats issued but eventually the boat’s engine kicked over and it putted away from the bank. Exhausted, Spiros took off his hat, stepped back onto the solid rise of rock that bordered the water, and collapsed onto the ground to catch his breath.

Louisa hurried over to him, making sure to brush against the hedge and scuff her feet on the gravel to give him warning. He lifted his head and, after a moment, allowed himself to smile.

“Louisa...” He greeted tenderly. “What are you doing so far from the party?”

There was a sky of glow worms over head, almost like a second sky of stars. She ducked through their canopy. “Worrying about you, actually,” she replied, standing beside him. Louisa ran her hand through his hair, feeling it edged in sweat from his confrontation. Finally she sat down close beside him and looked over the water. The hostile boat was arcing left, heading towards town. “Who are they?”

“Bastards...” He replied, shaking his head. “They want moneys for the party we are having. Protection tax. Protections from what? The scorpions – perhaps.”

“What?” Louisa frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Money for everything now. I told them to leave.”

Louisa suspected heavily that he was paraphrasing what he actually told them. “Well, I am sure Theo and Larry are very thankful that you were the one protecting their party,” she assured him. Louisa wrapped her arm around Spiros’ back, leaning into his vast, solid form. She tried to push Mary’s words out of her mind but they were still there, lingering – unwanted. Spiros had done absolutely nothing to cast doubt so _why_ couldn’t she banish the thoughts? “Are they dangerous?”

“These people?” Spiros watched the boat finally zip around the curve in the bay. “I do not think so. Loud, maybe but there is nothing in the law that allows them to demand these things. Greeks, we protect ourselves.”

She could not stop herself smiling warmly. Spiros reminded her of the bull pawing at the ground in the front of the pen, head dipped, horns glistening. She rubbed his back again until he finally turned toward her. “Hello...” Louisa whispered, as if they had not said it properly before.

His features softened, head dipping and eyes glistening a little as the rage tapered off. “Hello, Mrs Durrells...”

“I’m sorry I left you standing on the pier, Spiros. I don’t know what came over me.” He did not reply to her, possibly because he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Cheers suddenly lifted behind them. “Ah, that’ll be Theo coming through with his proposal.”

“They will be happy, I think,” Spiros averted his eyes to the sound of glasses chinking.

Louisa thought raising the issue of Mary but decided completely against it. _Ancient history_ , she reminded herself sternly. “Yes, I think so too. At the very least she seems to have accepted his menagerie in the same way that you accepted all my children.”

“And you, mine.”

That gave Louisa pause. “Will I meet your children again, Spiros?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied, honestly. “My wife is not particularly-”

“I understand,” she cut him off carefully. “But you will see them again tomorrow.”

His eyes lit up. “Yes.”

*~*~*

“Come on – in you go – all the way...” Larry helped Spiros hoist Sven into the back of the taxi before Theo came through and set Thunder in beside him. The puppy padded over Sven and sat on his chest. Poor Sven had indulged and now could do little else but hum odd, foreign tunes with unexplained tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.

Larry dusted his hands off as if they’d loaded bottles of milk. “That’s that then…”

“And what about your guests... You can’t tell me that they’re _all_ staying at the house?” Louisa eyed the rabble.

“Well, some might sleep on the jetty but yes, I think they’re all planning to stay.”

Theo’s eyes went wide but it wasn’t his problem. “Thank you for coming,” he stepped forward, farewelling Louisa, before she tore any more strips of Larry.

“Congratulations Mister Theo,” Spiros added, shaking his hand before holding the taxi door open for Louisa. “And to you also, Larry.”

“What – oh, yes. Of course.”

Louisa simply shook her head in admonishment. “Try and be a better human, Larry,” she pleaded. “Theo, help him.”

“I try,” Theo insisted, beaming.

Then they headed off into the darkness with Sven in the back. “Do you think he is going to be all right?” Louisa asked, genuinely concerned.

“As long as he’s not eaten by a goat… Uh, but tonights perhaps Mr Sven stays with us.”

“Although I am dying to have you all to myself, I am forced to agree...”


	15. Chapter 15

They did the best they could with Sven. In the relative pitch, Louisa held the unsteady front door open while Spiros carried the other man over the threshold like some strange drunken, rambling bride. Vine leaves knocked free from the commotion, rained down over all of them along with surprised insects that took flight and vanished into the house. They set their charge onto the couch in the library where Louisa slipped off his shoes and wedged cushions beneath his head. Spiros tossed a blanket from the cupboard which Louisa shook out and laid gently on top of Sven. He was barely conscious. Thunder came charging in and decided to sleep at his feet. Before they’d left the room the air had filled with snoring.

Louisa closed the front door and slipped the pair of antique locks across. The oldest was made of iron and painted black. She was sure the house would fall down first before it was broken. It was an especially odd addition considering the enormous windows that graced the rooms either side. Then she heard her name whispered over the air. Turning, she saw Spiros with his hand outstretched, waiting patiently with a casual warmth that made her slightly weak.

Safely upstairs, they closed the door to their bedroom for the first time. Louisa bit her lip slightly at the soft _click_ of another, far smaller lock. There was very little of ‘them’ in the room except for a haphazard pile of discarded clothes she’d decided against wearing to the party and Spiros’ wine stained shirt hanging on a hook. The only way that shirt could be saved was if she bleached it white.

Spiros lit both the oil lanterns, one on each side of the queen bed before roaming over to a set of glass panelled double doors that also opened to a balcony. It was such a beautiful night that he pulled them open and tied the finely woven curtains to the side, gathering them in his hands before wrapping their sashes, hooking them on the wall beside. They billowed slightly, dancing against their restraints.

The room lifted instantly under the soft glow and cool breeze. It was almost like being back on the ferry, watching the water wash up against the hull. Their lanterns flickered and Louisa realised that she’d been hovering nervously near the door while Spiros too, appeared to do everything possible except approach her. They had been with each other for weeks and yet somehow this moment was different… She wasn’t sure if it was the room or being on Corfu. Whatever the reason, this moment felt _real_. An end to summer romance and a beginning of…

Louisa decided to break the ice, turning away from him while reaching for the zip on the back of her dress. “Spiros,” she murmured, “could you?”

His eyes drank her in for a moment, considering her invitation before his feet managed to propel him across the room. Gently, he took the tiny crimson zip between his fingers and dragged it down her back. The unravelling was absolute torture. From the sound to the slow release of fabric which, as it folded to the side, revealed vast tracks of her naked back. He took it all the way to its depths until reaching the small of her back where it ended. Then he lingered as the fabric started collapsing under its own weight, opening further without his command. His face neared the back of her neck as a large portion curled aside to expose her shoulder blade. Spiros’ lips considered her skin – his breath hot on her skin. Finally, he relinquished a little control and dipped down, grazing her neck with his warm lips.

“Spiros...” She murmured, almost drunkenly. His arm slid around her waist while his body stepped forward, pressing hotly against hers. Already he was tilting up hungrily to her and his lips seeking more than a taste.

He did not understand her tone and instead moved his attention to her shoulder, placing another steady kiss to the skin he’d just revealed. She could feel her dress slipping down her body – pooling at her ankles and his hands all too quickly unhooking her bra before dragging that from her as well. For a moment she lost her will entirely and melted into his hands as they explored her breasts – his thumb brushing her nipple until she let out a quite indecent moan. It was only when a hand snuck between her lace panties and sodden flesh that she startled.

“Spiros...” Louisa repeated, more firmly. Spiros paused but did not withdraw, stealing kisses wherever he could from her skin. “Not tonight,” she added, albeit reluctantly. “Not with poor Sven downstairs.”

“He won’t mind-”

There he went again, distracting her with a wayward finger teasing. “-but I do,” she insisted, turning in his arms. He was forced to withdraw to her hips. Before pulling away, Louisa indulged him in a kiss that dragged on far longer than she’d meant.

Flushed and slightly scandalised, Louisa slipped her white night dress on and moved to the safety of the balcony doors, letting the breeze cool her down and the view distract her while Spiros stripped behind. She closed her eyes, trying not to listen to the sound of his clothes falling away. _They had all in the time in the world_ , she reminded herself. He reappeared wearing his usual grey shorts.

“Come with me,” he whispered, before leading her over to the bed. Together they laid down for the first time on a proper mattress surrounded by pillows, sheets and knitted throws. It felt like an infinite space compared to the narrow piece of board they’d slept on in the ferry.

Louisa tentatively lay on her side, facing the window while Spiros shuffled his body up behind her until he matched perfectly. He let his arm drape lightly over her stomach, inadvertently causing her breath to hitch. The other he stretched out above the pillows, lounging like one of the gods he was so fond of telling stories about.

“I have decided not to mind.”

“About?” Spiros prompted softly, when Louisa’s words trailed off into nowhere, lost to the evening. They were both feeling lazy in the trembling lamplight.

_Of course…_ Louisa scorned herself. How could he possibly know her fears?  “The stories in your past,” she finished,  taking care not to upset him .  That said, she could feel his confusion in the silence that followed. “I met  Theo’s Mary properly tonight and, well, she was more forthcoming in five minutes than the rest of the island has been in several years. She –  _explained_ a few things to me,”  Louisa stressed the word and felt him stiffen in response. He was beginning to understand what she meant, “ which I’ve been thinking about all night and I’ve decided  _not_ to mind. About any of it.”

Spiros shifted slightly. Even if he could think of the words to say he doubted that he had the skill to translate them into English.

“I don’t want to change you,” Louisa elaborated, shuffling back into his arms when she feared he might drift away. “The ah – various women that you have known over the years. Heaven knows you’ve learned a thing or two on your travels that work in my favour now.” If she could see his face, she’d have caught his blush. “So – all I wanted to say was – _I’m fine with it_. You don’t have to pretend that those times didn’t happen for fear of hurting me. You won’t.” Then Louisa was left to lay there in silence, wondering what he thought of her confession. He did not give much away – his breath steady on her shoulder and his arm unmoving on her body. It must have been several minutes before he moved very slightly forward and kissed the delicate scrap of skin behind her ear where her thick curls parted.

“Louisa...” Spiros whispered, nuzzling against her as if she were the most precious thing in the world to him.

She relaxed into his hold, her own breath escaping from the prison of her lungs. Louisa turned over in his arms so that she was facing him, nearly nose to nose. For all the talking she did, her voice threatened to abandon her. “There is something else I’ve been meaning to share with you but – uh – I wasn’t quite sure _how_.”

“Bests that you just tell me,” he replied, never more than an inch from her. His eyes were deep and even in the lamp light – dark. They begged her soul.

“Right – ah – okay...” She fussed through her mind for the necessary words. “The thing is, Spiros – I – well, I guess it’d actually be _we_ are-”

“-having a baby.” He cut her off accidentally in his joy. “Yes, I knows...” And Spiros was absolutely beaming at her, taking her face in his hands as if he’d been waiting to do so for hours. There was no hope of fighting him off. Spiros kissed her so hard that he ended up half on top of her, pinning one of her arms to the bed before he found his senses.

“H-how-?” Louisa licked her lips, utterly failing to process his ease at their situation.

“Sven. He mumbled the news when I pull him from bush earlier.”

“Bastard!” Louisa snapped, which only served to make Spiros fall ever more in love with her. “Wait...” Louisa was obviously fumbling for her bearings in the surreal circumstance. “You’re – _smiling_ does that mean?”

“I am happy, _yes_ ,” he repeated, in case she’d missed it the first time. “Please, come here, Mrs Durrells...”

And this time Louisa knew for _damn sure_ that he was using her married name purely to rile her before their lips crashed together and she completely forgot that she was mad with him. With his hands cupping her head, dragging her into his warmth, Louisa had no defence to offer against his exploring tongue and outrageous open-mouthed kisses that nearly devoured her.

It took them a long time to finally drag apart. Louisa wasn’t blind to the reality that her thin night gown hid little from Spiros’ naked chest but he honoured her wish from earlier and made no serious overtones, content simply to comb his fingers through her hair, dislodging a few transient vine leaves.

“This, I thinks, is why you were sad on the jetty...”

She nodded. “I did not expect to raise any more children,” she admitted. “And yet, I cannot bring myself to regret… Never that. I was mostly worried about what you’d make of how woefully complicated I’ve made everything.”

“Love is hard...” He replied, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Love is easy. These are equally true.”

Every now and then it struck her how wise Spiros was in his simplicity. “It is not even _that_ ,” Louisa continued. “I sent my children _away_ from this place so that they’d be safe. Now we’re about to bring another one into the world – one that we can’t ship away when the world turns.”

*~*~*

Spiros had left for town by the time Louisa woke. Laid in his place on the bed was warm sunlight streaming through the open doors along with the scent of spent oil lanterns which they’d forgotten to snuff.

Downstairs she found a hungry set of eyes, staring up at her from the kitchen floor. Thunder whined softly, nose to her ankles until Louisa cut up some left over meat and set it outside for him. That left her with Sven draped over a piece of furniture, somewhere in the house.

Before dealing with him, Louisa made herself tea and wandered, cup in hand, into the garden. Hugh’s estate was not the same as her old house but she was determined to acquaint herself with its unique beauty – and it certainly had a lot to offer. On the left, there was a narrow bed of white roses trying to climb through an unkempt tangle and past that, a hedge of azaleas with balls of vibrant fuchsia petals which they shed into a pink carpet that stretched all the way to the edge of the grove. Even the olives had a sort of ancient, ruinous appeal to them. In the same way that the crumbling Temple of Neptune drew gasps of awe, the silver-barked trees with all their scars and dead limbs created a magical aura. She waved to one of the workers who paused and dipped his hat.

There was a, ‘calm before the storm’ feel to the dust tumbling in the air. The final breath before the world submerged itself in rivers of blood. From Corfu Louisa could not see that they had already begun to run.

Later, Louisa sat opposite Sven with a cup of thick coffee. She wasn’t terribly good at making it but she was certain he needed _something_ to pick him up off the fabric.

He looked about as good as he felt, dipping forward to set his head between his knees.

“Oh no – don’t do that,” Louisa pushed him backwards by the shoulders so that he was leaning against the couch instead. “You’ll only make it worse. Here...” She handed him the coffee, giving him a moment to settle it in his hands. There was a good deal of patience writ into her face. “I don’t understand, Sven – this isn’t like you to drink yourself into paralysis.”

“I am sorry, Louisa,” he mumbled, realising that they must have carried him into their home. His accent was thicker than usual and she realised that he must repress it on purpose.

“No, don’t apologise,” she insisted. “You’ve got me worried, that’s all. Spiros too. It’s not like him to ask about someone more than a dozen times. It was as though he was afraid you’d break.”

“There is nothing the matter with me,” Sven assured her, sniffing but not daring to sip the drink. Bits and pieces from last night were starting to drip back into Sven’s memory. Most was a blur of noise and dancing but one particular detail filled him with abject horror. “Louisa! I – oh-” and the next word could only be a foreign curse. He startled himself so much he spilled a little coffee over his hands which led to a second trail of expletives.

“Ah, you’ve remembered then… Don’t panic. I was going to tell Spiros anyway. If anything, I’d say you made it easier for me.”

“I do not remember much,” Sven confessed, “except that he was very pleased. Maybe I think, he accidentally knocked me back into the bush.” Although he remained utterly mortified at betraying her secret.

“Another tiny Spiros running about – what’s not to like?” She teased softly, before reaching forward to feel Sven’s forehead. He wasn’t running a fever but he looked more terrible than a normal regretful drunk. “Though you must tell me the truth, Sven, what is wrong? You do not look well at all...”

Sven set the coffee down on the table where it would be safe. He didn’t know what to think or feel. The world had been a blur to him ever since he’d received the letter. Drawing an unsteady breath, Sven shook his head. “Louisa, they killed him. Viggo – they...” But he was not even sure how to go on. Though absent for drastic stretches of time, Viggo was a part of his soul and now he was simply _gone_.

Louisa covered her mouth in shock. “Sven...” she whispered, shifting to sit beside him on the couch. Her arm slipped around his narrow frame but he shook her off. “I thought – Switzerland… There is no fighting there.”

“This is true,” he replied, softer than before. His hushed tone masked an obvious anger building along with the threat of tears. “Switzerland is safe but the countess’s son returned to their estates in France to save artwork left behind in the rush. They were running out of money. Without money, they’d lose their residency in Switzerland... Soon after the countess’s son left for France he went missing in the river area around Metz. The countess begged Viggo to go after him. She was in hysterics, weeping day and night by the window of their apartment. The last letter I have from Viggo says that he was due to travel within the month to find out what happened to him. Then nothing. Nothing at all until the countess writes to say that Viggo was found, along with her son, in ditch at the French/German border. There’d been a skirmish with German troops moving heavy artillery – there is no further information. The countess writes only that both bodies were counted with the dead and – and burned right there in that ditch. There is nothing to do – no way to confirm. He is gone and – and I did not know...”

“I’m so sorry, Sven...” Louisa did not know what else to say. He shook off all attention and stared blankly through any soft words. All she could do was bring him more coffee as the morning wore on and watch from the patio when he finally went for a walk through the olive grove, lingering at some of the roughest trees whose branches bowed right down onto the ground. The air, as if feeling the press of war, began to chill. It was inevitable that Winter would find Corfu and now it was blowing in from the North. She found a shawl and tugged it around her shoulders and decided to roam through the groves herself. Flocks of quail scrambled into thickets of weed while sparrows bounced in their dozens up and down, all over the bare earth. Eventually the ground dropped away and the canopy parted to reveal the sea. Its blue had shifted toward ice – leaning grey. There was a constant line of large ships on the horizon moving back and forth in seemingly pointless drills. Every now and then she heard their horns bellow. Their presence chilled her more than the air. She could not help but worry about the child she now carried. What would the world look like in eight months? Would there even _be_ a world…

*~*~*

Morning had barely broken by the time Spiros drove into down. The angle on the sunlight was so sharp to the horizon that the old buildings blocked most of it leaving towering shadows across the cobbled streets. His house was higher up the hill than most, catching the light leaving every surface a glorious shade of gold. Even his suffering plants took in the light, elevating themselves to a work of slightly awkward art.

He pulled up outside the house then languished in his car, simply staring at his house as if it were a fortress. His feeling wrangled between longing, nostalgia, anguish and reluctance. There was no untangling any of it so Spiros steeled himself and exited the car – his hand dragging over its paintwork until the last possible moment.

His wife answered the door almost too quickly, as though she had heard his car approach and waited for him to knock. It did not escape Spiros’ that she’d dressed herself up, let down her long hair and highlighted her eyes with a gentle flare of makeup. Her manipulation was as transparent as the smile she offered before waving him in.

The children were not inside as promised. He could tell from the strange silence that settled in the dining room.

“They are at my sister’s...” She answered, before he had the chance to ask. “I thought it best that we settle things alone. You may pick them up for the day after we are done.”

The thought of seeing his children again stopped Spiros from asking any further questions on the matter. He suspected that his wife’s patience was shallow at best – something for which he did not blame her. This mess was his fault – from the very beginning.

“As I said,” she continued, “the paperwork has finally come from Athens. The document requires two signatures before it can be processed by the courts.”

“And… How long will it take to process?” Spiros deliberately avoided using the term, ‘divorce’.

“In a hurry?” Her sharp eyes snapped up at him.

“Please...” Spiros added quietly, trying to calm her temper.

“Two, maybe four months.” She watched Spiros’ face drop slightly. “You _are_ in a hurry, I can tell. It is not difficult to guess why.”

Spiros’ wife nodded at him to sit at the kitchen table, which he did while she withdrew the letter from a drawer and laid it out for him to see that everything was in order. There were no signatures on it yet. She passed him a pen. Without a word or even a hesitation, Spiros signed the divorce papers. What he did not see were his wife’s eyes glisten with every callous stroke of his pen. He was all too keen to be rid of her and the resentment flooded to the surface. It took her a moment to realise that he was holding the pen in her direction, waiting for her to sign. He probably thought he could be in and out in under five minutes – dropping her off like he did to his fares.

Slowly, she placed her hand upon the divorce papers and dragged them slowly back to her side of the table. Then pen, she left in his possession until Spiros was forced to ask, “Is something wrong?”

“I want something in return,” his wife replied, her gaze fixed upon the papers. The ink on his signature glistened, wet. How easy it would be to smear – a single brush of her fingertips. She let it set before replying. “You have everything you want – a _future_. A whole new family at the expense of ours.” She watched fear cross his eyes. “I’ll not take your children from you but I assure you, it is for their benefit, not yours. So, I want something from you – then you can have your divorce.”

Spiros was left confused. If she did not plan to ransom the children, there was nothing left to take. “The lawyers settled the money and the house,” he replied quietly, not wanting to raise her distress any further. “What else is there to have?”

“ _You_...” His wife tapped her fingers softly against the papers. Spiros shook his head slowly, disbelievingly. “One last time.”

“Of course I cannot – you know I cannot-” Spiros began to reply before he was interrupted.

“Why? Do _not_ try to tell me it is because you’ve sworn a vow. You swore your vows to _me_ , Spiros!” She snapped, suddenly sharp, grading and brimming with fury. “How many times have you broken them with that woman? Can you even remember?” She felt sick thinking about it.

“I _am_ sorry,” he insisted. “We have hurt each other many times, I think.” Spiros remembered the man his wife had preferred – the man she’d _wanted_ to marry but couldn’t because of their first child. She’d been through the pain and now he was taking what she could not. “But I cannot do this thing that you ask.”

“Then I cannot sign this...” She pushed the paper away. “And I will withdraw my application for the divorce. Good luck proving infidelity on _my_ side of this arrangement. Abandonment takes two years – do you have that long? Because _I do_. No man will take me with two young children to raise. I will be alone for a very long time...”

“I _can’t-_ ”

“Say it again and I swear to _god_ I’ll throw this into the sea.”

Spiros reached across the table in a flash of movement when his wife threatened to take the paper away. It has been so long since they’d touched that Spiros was sure her skinned burned under his hand. For a long minute they remained this way – staring down each other from opposing sides of the table with the din of early morning noise meandering in around them.

It was Spiros that spoke. “Sign it first.” His words were heavy but firm – bearing all the weight of his conscience.

“How can I trust you?” She replied, a breathless whisper.

His grip tightened. “I’ve come this far...”

Carefully, she reached across the table with her free hand and picked up the pen then, very slowly, Spiros released his hold on her. The pen hovered over the paper for a long time before she sucked in a shaky breath and signed her name. She blew on the ink, drying it before reluctantly handing him the document.


	16. Chapter 16

Spiros sat in his car for a long time afterwards. Long enough that the sun moved its heavy ball of flame above the tallest building and banished every shadow from the world. His taxi picked up the heat, lazing like a giant, dark-scaled lizard. He could hear the world shedding – leaves dying and tumbling onto the road as a cool wind picked its way off the water and climbed the hill, whistling through the bustling village – knocking over glasses and stealing table cloths.

The envelope with the signed divorce papers sat heavy in his coat pocket. He couldn’t bear to open it or even touch the contents. Spiros could smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke on the air, drifting out the bedroom window of his old house.

He smashed his hand furiously on the steering wheel. It took him another few minutes to find the courage to turn the engine over. He was too late to catch his children so he drove to the school instead, pulling up under the bank of pines before crossing the road on foot and lingering at the low stone wall barring off their playground. Spiros smiled almost at once, catching sight of his two little ones playing in the dirt.

*~*~*

“Lugaretzia?” Louisa stepped back from the door, slightly startled by her unexpected appearance.

The old woman shook her head, mumbling in Greek. She was dressed in black from head to toe with an apron tied at her waist. There was a basket tucked under her arm full of oranges which she set down on the table inside. “Terrible...”  Lu garetzia  switched to English. “Terrible things.”

Louisa trailed her inside, shifting the basket of fruit off Hugh’s good desk and into the kitchen instead. It was clear  Lu garetzia  had never been in this house before. “Lovely as it is to see you,” Louisa tried to be cheerful despite her confusion, “what exactly are you doing here?”

“No work at the old house,” Lugaretzia explained, wandering about the kitchen – getting her bearings. She set about opening every cupboard, humming and sniffing at their contents. “Just terrible. I stay at home – weeks. Weeks with only my family.” Lugaretzia shook her head again. “No. Terrible. I work.”

Louisa bit her lip. “I don’t have any money to pay you… Honestly there’s nothing left. I used the last of it taking my children to England.”

Lugaretzia waved her hand absently in Louisa’s direction. “I take a few bottles of oil home.”

Louisa got the feeling that Lugaretzia would pay  _her_ to work away from home. “How about I make us some tea? Coffee?” There was more enthusiasm to that option.

A little while later, they sat down together at the kitchen table. It was a good deal longer than her old one and in better condition. No scuffed edges full of splinters or worrying knife marks. Indeed, the entire house was in a better state. At the very least she had confidence in the ceilings. “How is your daughter?”

“Good – baby noisy. Scream all day.”

That went a long way to explaining what  Lu garetzia  was doing here… “And her husband, does he help?” Louisa asked, despite not holding out much hope.

“No. He join Greek army, like all the rest.”

“Oh.” Louisa sipped her coffee. Lugaretzia hadn’t said a word about Spiros yet. Louisa _presumed_ she knew. The whole village knew according to Theo but there’d been a couple of disapproving looks over the years from  Lugaretzia and Louisa couldn’t help but wonder what she thought of the whole thing. “Um, Lugaretzia – about ah,” the words seemed to stick, “Spiros...”

“I knows about Spiros,” Lugaretzia assured her. “I tell Theo from the start – _look out for the English woman with that taxi driver_. He does not believe me but  Lugaretzia is _always_ right. I know what a man thinks. They are simple and stupid.”

L ouisa nodded carefully, not sure if that was approval or not. “ If you have come here to escape the noise of your daughter’s child you might be out of luck. I have a bit more news, actually-”

“You are pregnant,” Lugaretzia interrupted. “I know. You eat twice as much.”

Without a word, Louisa put her third scone back on the saucer.  Lu garetzia  was right.  Then Louisa realised why  Lu garetzia  was really here. It smacked her in the face like a front of cold air. She’d come to make sure she was all right.

“No place to be alone,” Lugaretzia kept muttering into her coffee. “Up here. Middle of nowhere.”

*~*~*

It was definitely getting colder. Louisa pulled a cardigan on, picked up her glass of wine and retreated to the kitchen where she lingered beside the woodfire stove. All the doors and windows were open, letting out the smoke. When Lugaretzia had first stocked it into life the damn thing had coughed up a cloud of ash. Whatever Hugh had been doing in this house, cooking wasn’t one of them. Lugaretzia left with the last worker, hitching a ride in the back of their cart and so began Louisa’s favourite part of the day – those fleeting hours of dusk where she was alone with the gentle _hiss_ of the waving olives.

There was no telling when Spiros would be home. Louisa guessed that he was naturally sporadic, coming and going at random. It didn’t bother her. Routine had never been one of her strong points. What had her Aunt called her?  _Middling_ . A middling wife and mother.  She had meant it kindly and it wasn’t exactly untrue.

Fog poured into the olive grove and settled around the old trunks like cotton wool. Hugh had warned her that the groves vanished in sheets of white – something about the hills and the sea. He found it oddly beautiful and Louisa found herself in agreement as she pulled the shutters closed to stop the mist spilling inside the house. She was just about to close the door as well when she heard the familiar  _crunch_ of Spiros’ car on the gravel drive.

Louisa hesitated at the door, leaning against it to watch as Spiros appeared from the mist. “Over here!” She called out to him, before he reached the front door.

Spiros diverted, striding around the side of the house to the kitchen instead. He was so surprised that he forgot to take off his hat. “Louisa – what are you doing around-” but Spiros paused, obviously smelling the smoke.  “Did you set Hugh’s house on fire?”

“No.” She grinned indulgently. “Lugaretzia did. Come inside. I’ll explain.”

S piros closed the kitchen door but found it difficult to go any further. He laid back against the rough surface and tried to push away the memory of the morning. It wouldn’t go and he was left stuck to the door with the shame.  The scent of his wife was all over him. Her deliberately heavy perfume hung on his skin while the various marks she’d left on him with her nails stung.  There was no hiding any of it and strangely, Spiros didn’t want to. He both needed Louisa to know and feared what she’d do...

“Spiros?” Louisa returned to the kitchen when she noticed he hadn’t followed her through to the living room. “What are you doing at the door? Spiros?” His gaze was oddly distant, looking right through her to the opposing wall. Something was wrong. Carefully, Louisa approached, reaching out carefully to his arm. He barely noticed when she finally caught him by the elbow. “Are you all right?”

His breathing was unsteady. Spiros didn’t know what to do – or how to express how he felt in English. At least, not without fear that she would misunderstand.

“Has something happened to your children?” Louisa asked carefully. She knew that he had gone to see them today.

At least that startled him into a response. “No. No my children are well,” he assured her. “ It was good to see them again.”

Louisa squeezed his arm gently. She could not imagine how hard it must be for him to be without them.  She felt the loss of hers now that three of them were so far away. He never really spoke about the life he’d left behind to be with her. “I hope you are able to see them more often when things are settled.”

“My wife has agreed to this,” Spiros replied.

The answer oddly did not seem to make Spiros happy. Worse, he flinched away from Louisa’s hand when she went to touch his face. “Spiros – what is the matter?” Eventually she managed to gently cup his cheek but there was an uncommon chill on his skin.

“I have done a _terrible_ thing,” he confessed, tears brimming from nowhere. “A – a terrible-” but Spiros struggled to say anything more as several heavy beads of liquid ran down his face.

Louisa’s heart clenched. Her fingertips were wet from his tears. Had there been an accident with his car? Had he been foolish with the little money he had? The questions flew through her mind but none of them felt as though they fit. “ Tell me,” she insisted, “or I shall imagine the worst.”

Spiros reached up, catching the hand she had on his cheek in his. He leaned into her touch for a moment before dragging her hand away. Spiros kept a hold of it.  Part of him believed his wife’s cruel words. That Louisa would leave him the moment she learned of what they’d done. It was her intention, after all – to tear his world to shreds as he’d done to hers.  Instead of speaking, Spiros reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the thick envelope – handing it to Louisa.

Confused, she took it from him and opened it. Louisa did not read a lot of Greek but she recognised the official seals of the Greek courts and Spiros’ signature at the bottom along with another she could only assume belonged to his wife.  _It was done_ . Spiros had finalised the divorce papers so that he could be with her and yet he looked as though all the stars had been torn from the sky. Carefully, Louisa folded the letter back up and slid it inside his pocket.

“It’s not too late,” Louisa started, shaking a little, “if you’ve made a mistake… Nothing has been done that cannot be undone. I – I understand if this reality is not what-” If _she_ was not what he really wanted.

Another tear ran down his face. “Stop.” She did. He did not want her to say anything she’d regret – not when the fault was entirely his to bear. “I did what I did because  _I love you_ , Louisa.  Please understand this. ”

Even now, the way he confessed his love made her weak. Nothing else could shift her heart like he did. “Whatever you’ve done, Spiros, we’ll face it together.”

“I wants to do the right thing,” he continued, keeping a firm hold of her hand. “To honour you as I should.”

Which Louisa had learned was Greek for ‘marriage’. She tried not to let her thoughts wander off into marrying Spiros. It was hard enough to keep them in check on a good day.

“So, I go to my wife to pick up the divorce papers that have arrived from Athens. These things, as I told you in Englands, were all agreed. I have only to sign and give them to the court to pass. That is why I leave so early this morning. When I get there I find the papers, they are nots signed.”

Louisa could guess where this was going, given the state of Spiros and what she knew about his wife’s current mood. Instead of interrupting, she squeezed his hand gently.

“I am not sure how to-” to explain. “My wife made me pay in more than money. If I did not she said that she would _never_ sign them. We’d be left for years, Louisa and my children… I’d – I’d not see my-”

This time Louisa placed her free hand gently against his lips to quiet him. “Spiros...” She exhaled softly. “I  think I know wha t happened.  If I’m right, it wasn’t about you – it was about  _me._ ” And although the thought made her feel desperately ill it also filled her with a strange rise of certainty. “ Your wife meant it as a punishment to me but – no, don’t look away – but also she managed to do was show me how much you must love me. A man doesn’t cheat then run home in tears and confess. Those aren’t the actions of someone casually conducting affairs. Whatever you had to do with your wife to earn that signature, you did it for  _me_ .” Louisa released his hand and wiped away all his tears instead.

“It dishonours you.” Spiros whispered.

“I’m not a blushing bride, Spiros. Life is a mess. I know it better than most.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Are you all right?”

H e seemed completely confused by the question. The more he thought about it, the more he realised the answer was  _no_ .  Spiros wished himself nothing but ill.

“Wait here,” Louisa whispered. “And don’t you dare sneak off.”

She was hesitant to leave him but Louisa had to do something. The one thing that Louisa had feared most had happened. Spiros had slept with his wife instead of her and yet she felt none of the emotions she expected. In fact, it all boiled down to a general wash of desperate sadness. How angry must she had been to hold Spiros to ransom with such a thing? Louisa decided to count herself lucky that Spiros’ wife had taken a less violent approach than Hugh’s partner. When everything was said and done, Spiros was alive, safe and f r ee. That was more than could be said for poor Viggo.

Twenty minutes later, Louisa returned to find Spiros exactly where she’d left him. He’d been crying on and off. She could tell by the glistening lines.  Slowly, she reached up to his hat, took hold of it by the brim, and slid it off his head leaving a slightly crazy mane of hair displaced. It was difficult to be sad when he looked quite so hilarious.  Her amusement must have crept into a smile because soon there was a ghost of a smile on his lips as well.

“Why do you smile?”

“Because I adore you,” Louisa replied, honestly.

“I do not understand.”

Louisa canted slightly onto her tiptoes – one hand on the door to steady herself while she stole a chase brush of lips from him. “You don’t have to,” she murmured, before taking his hand firmly and dragging him out of the kitchen.

She led him several rooms across to the other corner of the ground floor where Hugh’s ludicrous copper bath stood in the centre of the granite room that was now lit by a scattering of mismatched candles. In her mind it had looked better but the reality was that she’d put the scene together in a hurry with whatever she could find. Steam lifted in visible swirls from the bath, which she’d struggled to fill with several heated kettles of water.

It was a room of  un necessary size with no less than three double glass doors facing the grove. The sky outside had gone black and the heat in the bathroom left a film of moisture on the glass.  A long time ago, someone had left a display of flowers on the enormous stone counter. They’d died long ago, dried and partially shed. There was a melancholic beauty in them – like a master’s oil painting yellowed by  age.

L ouisa brought him deeper into the room, stopping beside the bath. Without a word, she began the task of undressing him, gently sliding his jacket from his shoulders before hooking her fingers under his suspenders.

It was the second time he’d been undressed today but Louisa’s hands were so different from his wife’s. With Louisa, there was nothing but warmth and grace in every touch. If he hadn’t been hers entirely before, he was now – falling closer and closer to her.  He barely noticed as his shirt crumpled onto the tiles, stepped on by one or both of them. It was only when Louisa dragged his white singlet over his head and discarded it that he felt himself hesitate. The marks on his chest, back and arms were angrier than before. His wife’s nails had cut deep. They’d take weeks to heal.

W ordlessly, Louisa circled him. She traced the longest scratch with the soft tip of her finger – from start to finish, reclaiming it with affection. His breath staggered as Louisa kissed the damaged skin.  She turned her head and laid her  face against his back. Spiros’ muscles flexed against her cheek. Somewhere in there, his heart thudded steadily. With her eyes closed, Louisa reached around his waist – indulgently exploring his lower stomach before she set about unbuttoning his trousers. The y fell almost at once, clearly held up mostly by a mixture of his suspenders and witchcraft.  He stepped out of his briefs himself before Louisa walked him to the bath and insisted his step into the water.

Spiros lowered himself into the heat with an involuntary sigh. It rose to the base of his chest as he laid against the natural curve of the copper. Strange as the bath looked standing in the room, it was an experience of beauty. He would have to write to Hugh and tell him that he can have the house back but not the bath.

Meanwhile, Louisa fetched a great big ochre sea-sponge the size of her hand. She dipped it into the water before pressing it high up on Spiros’ chest. She pressed down, squeezing some of the water out as she washed away all trace of the morning.  He draped his arm  lazily along the soft curve of metal, his hand dripping onto the floor next to where Louisa knelt. From there he watched. It was the little things that caught his attention. The way the candlelight played with her skin, softening the tan lines she’d earned walking through the groves. The threads hanging from the seams of her dress turning to wisps of gold. That was the thing about the war for them. It meant poverty, not violence. Years and years and  _years_ of quiet simplicity. Spiros knew they were coming again. He could feel it in the cold wind that had come to pick apart the windows. Already, gusts rattled the shutters on Hugh’s grand house.

“What?” Louisa asked softly, when she caught him staring. She dragged the sponge down his other arm, washing away layers of dust. Driving his open-topped cab all day, he was always filthy. Normally she loved that about him but the sickly sweet perfume that she’d smelled hanging on his skin soured it.

“Louisa...”

She almost wished he wouldn’t say her name like that. It made her do foolish things, like drop the sponge into the water forcing her into an awkward retrieval that left them both blushing. “Yes, Spiros?” His wet hand laying along the tub caught her arm gently. Anchoring her. It was an action that made her heart fumble. “Spiros?” She repeated his name.

“I wants to ask you to marry me.”

Louisa dropped the sponge again but made no effort to find it. Slowly, she turned to look at Spiros. Bastard. He lay there, calm as anything with his dark eyes set upon her while she’d turned into a trembling wreck. Technically that wasn’t even a question.

“But I must waits two months.”

“Ye- _oh_.” She’d bloody nearly answered.

Spiros tilted his head in surprise at her part-answer. “Yes?” He asked, curiously.

“Well – I thought – you were asking.” She was utterly mortified.

“Asking what...”

“Asking – me to – oh! You’re teasing!” _And_ he was laughing. “Damn you, Spiros!” She splashed him lightly if only to wipe away that smug grin he’d plastered all over himself.

“You said, ‘yes’.” He observed, his grin utterly shameless.

“ _You_ didn’t ask!” She refuted, attempting to leave, but he still had a hold of her by the elbow.

“Marry me, Mrs Durrells.”

“No.” Louisa replied flatly.

Spiros’ other hand came up so that he had both her arms captured. She squeaked at his warm, wet hold and then widened her bright eyes as he sat up dislodging a cloud of steam. “Marry me, _Louisa_.”

“No!” She rebuffed him futilely, as he drew himself closer and closer. Louisa could feel the heat rising off his skin as he leaned dangerously toward her.

“Are you sure?” He was hardly a breath from her lips.

“No...” Her head turned at the last minute, aligning most willingly with his languid kiss.


	17. Chapter 17

Louisa ended up absolutely soaked through as Spiros abandoned the bath, lifted her onto the narrow bench inside the bathroom and pressed her against the marble with his naked body. She wasn’t sure exactly when her repeated litany of ‘no’ shifted into ‘yes’ but it definitely ended there – her hand dragging uselessly down the wall as she screamed it.

She also had no idea if that constituted an agreement to his proposal or if it was more of a general, ‘yes’ to everything Spiros.

They never quite got around to deciding the answer.

* ~*~*

Nothing official could be done for Sven. Aside from the illegality of his affection, whispers from  Eastern Europe were kept hushed – held back at the edges of village life. It was almost as if Corfu had decided that the elegant sweep of sapphire encircling its horizon formed a shell, protecting them from the war that had begun to rage. Violence spurred into life one border at a time. Flaring first in tiny gasps – a town here and there.  Larger incursions into sovereign countries took longer to travel and usually came on the ash-stained faces of those that had seen their homes fall to dust.  Smoke rose on the horizon in the skies above Albania. It was reduced to blushing sunsets and bloody-thirsty dawns.

Before sunrise on the  following Saturday, a small party of Sven’s closest friends assembled at the edge of his sprawling farm where the white cliffs rose up several hundred feet to meet an open field. His goats grazed nearby, scattered and stark against the even green. Wildflowers bobbed their heads supplying yellow flecks of colour between the mourners.

Theo, Mary, Larry, a particularly pale Nancy, Florence, Dr Petridis,  Lu garetzia, Spiros, Louisa and of course bounding Thunder all followed Sven to the  cusp of the cliff.  Palvos waited,  draped in funeral robes with his hands clasped in front.  His yards of black fabric caught in the wind, permanently  whipping them off the edges of Corfu. He was there of his own merit and with no official standing  as far as the church  was concerned . Not that it mattered. The spectacle and sentiment were all levelled at the right place in their hearts, for which Sven nodded in unspeakable thanks to them.  Tears shrouded his eyes. Prayers were said. Several hymns sung and finally Sven threw a basket’s worth of bright pink Judas blossoms into the air.

The colourful petals caught in the wind and curled up in magnificent swirls. Spiralling, they climbed and climbed before gravity got the better of them and they dropped toward the waves nudging at the beach beneath.

There were very few words said before the mourners left, wandering across the field to the haphazard clusters of tables playing host to wine and baked goods. Theo and Spiros both played guitar, filling the air with carefully hopeful songs. Most threw rugs down and lounged upon them, lazing like the ancient Greeks after a feast.

Thunder knew what to do, trotting to the edge of the cliff where Sven had taken up a perch. He nudged his nose under Sven’s arm, demanding attention before flopping down beside him on the last wisps of grass – paws up and belly to the sun. Louisa knelt beside Sven, not sure if she should say anything. She knew exactly what it was like to be in his position with people hovering nearby, unsure of what to do. It had been the same when she’d lost her husband.

“I do not feel as if he is really gone, you see?” Sven argued with the horizon. “It is not that I think it is not true. I am _sure_ it is true. But – but how do I _feel_ it, Louisa? Some days I feel nothing at all.  There is _emptiness_ here.” Sven gestured at his chest.

“That is the strongest form of feeling,” Louisa warned. “When we are so far removed from our pain that we cannot even brush our fingers across it.” Sven looked composed, pale eyes fixed on the water but Louisa could see the fractures in his soul.

“What if I _never_ feel it...”

She had never heard a sentence uttered with more fear. “ You feel  his loss every time you breathe,” Louisa whispered.  Her hand cautiously rested against his back  if  only for a moment. He did not seem inclined to lean toward anyone yet. “ Then, one day – it leaves you...” She whispered. “Like a tide pulling back and all the boats left with their hulls in the mud, leaning perilously to one side.”  That’s how it had been when her husband had died. Years of gradually falling water. Raising her children with scraps and hope.

“I have nightmares,” Sven confessed, “that the war will consume this tiny island and wipe us from the slate. We will be as the ruins on the hill.” There was a tremble in his voice. “Those people were washed away as if they’d never been. It has happened dozens of times – on _these_ hills. Their serenity – I find it treacherous.”

I f only she could object but Louisa had the same thoughts, walking among the ancient trees in Hugh’s grove. The people who fashioned their limbs were bone and ash.  “ Maybe you should n’t be alone up there in that house of yours… What about your friend who stayed with you last time. Where is she?”

Sven shook his head. “Who knows. I lost track of her six months ago. The freedom we used to think of as Bohemian all of a sudden causes great alarm.”  A pause lingered between them. “I am not sure if I thanked you – for this… It means more to me than I can properly say.”

This time, Louisa chose to take his hand in hers and squeeze it gently. “You have always been there for me, Sven and I will always be there for you.”

“Are you all right?” He added, after things had calmed between them. “With the little one, I mean.”

Louisa blushed and realised that she’d eventually have to stop doing that. “Oh  _that_ ,” she lifted the corner of her mouth in the faintest of smiles. “Well it is rather too early to tell. So far I think I’m pretending it hasn’t happened. Maybe I’ll see how far through the nine months that gets me before I begin to panic.”

“But you are _happy_?” Sven asked. Not in a cruel, self loathing manner but with genuine concern. “Falling for the good looking local taxi driver is one thing – this is a little more permanent.”

“It’s all permanent for Spiros.” She pointed out, quietly.

“The wife?”

“Mmm… The wife.”

And that was all that was said of her.

“You realise,” Louisa continued, “that you will have to come and dance.” She nodded at the commotion behind. “It appears to be the Greek way of dealing with grief.”

“It is the Greek way of dealing with _everything_.”

They all danced on the scrappy field with Thunder yapping and bouncing around them until he got distracted and started chasing mice. Their tiny brown bodies popped out of the grass in terror but Thunder was in no danger of catching up to them. He was a clumsy puppy but infinitely joyous.

* ~*~*

“Ah, Louisa!” Theo stumbled through the busy market place, ignoring the fact that he was jostled side to side like a trawler in rough seas.

The heat had given way to a pleasant chill and the market produce well and truly on its way to the Autumn selection of jams, baked goods and salted meat. More people than usual crammed the square – a good deal of them followed by suspicious local eyes.

Theo sat himself down on the rockery next to Louisa. Her stall was almost empty with only a scattering of half-price scones left. “Great success, no?”

Louisa sighed at her market table. She found it difficult to fashion enthusiasm for it despite admittedly excellent sales. Between her baking and Hugh’s olive oil supply, they were doing comparably well. “How do you bottle such energy?” She demanded of him. “Every day you are the same, Theo. Rain. Drought. Heat – frost – _honestly_. It’s infuriating.”

“I was born jolly, my mother said. Well actually she say the gods pour honey in my ear but I believe the translation accurate. What is it that makes you sad?”

“Sad? No...” That wasn’t it. “A little on the tired side on account of...” She patted the slight curve her stomach had taken on recently. “I was thinking of my children, that’s all.” Louisa straightened herself up as a potential customer lingered near her scones. They passed by. “It is strange to be without them. You get used to the general aura of noise.”

“You will have noise again soon enough. Twice as much, I fear, for Spiros is loud and so too are his children. Is he well? I’ve not seen him around town lately.”

“The taxi drivers have been called into the main ports to look after the officers. I have to say the money is very welcome considering our predicament but the hours are tiresomely long. Although he hasn’t said anything specific, I get the impression that he’s not too fond of these people...”

“I imagine not,” Theo agreed. “Many of them Italians.”

Louisa felt her heart sink. That explained Spiros’ dragging feet and absent gazes.

“Diplomats are flooding in for crisis talks.” Theo continued. “That’s what I came to talk to you about. I’ve rejoined the Royal Army. Oh – don’t look so surprised… The way things are heading, they’ll call us all into service eventually. This way I get to choose my division – the medical corps – same as before.”

“You never talk about the first war...”

“Neither do you.”

Silence ebbed between them, overshadowed by the drone of the crowds. “What about your new wife?” Louisa asked carefully. “You’ve barely been married a week. I can’t imagine she’s particularly thrilled at the prospect of you traipsing across Albania or some such.”

“For the moment nothing changes. Unlike England, our country is locked in a stalemate. We sell food to Germany while allowing Allied ships through our waters. Somewhat of a contradiction one might say. Particularly Italy. That is why there are soldiers. As for me, I could be called into service tomorrow or in a year. All I know is that I have to find a way to help. It cannot be the case that all those people died before only for Greece to crumble. I swore to fight on to men who lay dying. A passing decade does not abdicate me from this pledge.”

“I’ve tried but I can’t imagine you in uniform, traipsing through gunfire. A sword and shield, perhaps. All those Greek leathers...” Louisa teased, nudging her shoulder against Theo who’d ducked his head in a grin. “Spiros – not at all. He smiles too much for a uniform.” Her bottom lip caught between her teeth in moment of fearful panic. _What if they called him into the army?_

Theo took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Do not worry, Louisa… Spiros’ place is right here on the island. He is our patron saint. Though I do have a favour to ask of you.”

“Anything, you know that.” She kept hold of his hand.

“When I go,” not _‘if’_ , “please look after Mary and my parents.”

“Of _course_ I will, Theo. You needn’t ask.” She leaned toward her old friend, kissing his cheek gently. “And what of my son? I barely see him. He could have turned into a sloth for all I know.”

“He lives,” Theo canted forward, stealing the last scone from the table. He pulled it apart in his hands without protest from Louisa. “Mostly he shuts himself in his room writing. Day and night. _Tap – tap – tap_. It drives my animals mad but his wife lounges in the sun like one of my lizards, ignoring the commotion.”

“Yes. She is uncommonly good at putting up with Larry’s peculiarities.”

“We have strange visitors. These are not like before. They slip quietly into the house for conversations that go deep into the night. By the next morning they are gone, spirited away on fishing boats. He jokes that he has a secret network of authors circumnavigating the censorship regulations.”

“He is probably exaggerating,” Louisa rolled her eyes.

“Larry _does_ have a fruitful imagination.”

Which was the kindest anyone had ever described her eldest son’s moods. “I find starving him out quite effective, if you ever have a problem with him.”

Theo smirked. “I have been trying to gather a new pair of otters for the new breeding season to carry on the good work your youngest started. Sometimes I forget how things were before Master Gerry. Now – I find – I – miss him very much. There is no one to listen to my prattling about swamp weed and fly eggs. Mary takes her leave of me when she sees I’ve returned with a net and a cage from the fields. It is as if all the animals have gone into mourning since he left. Even the birds are sad.”

“To tell you the truth, I feel quite guilty about poor Gerry stuck there in that dreary old school trapped with all the cold rain and muck. He’ll get no enjoyment out of school but I do hope that he’ll learn something useful while he’s there. If he wants to help you in this work preserving animal species he needs an education. Or basic spelling.”

“If something happens, Louisa and I do not come back from this war, I want – no – do not shake your head – I want Gerry to have my expedition journals – and my equipment. He will make better use of them than me, I am sure. Promise you’ll do this.”

“Don’t speak like this, Theo...” Louisa protested.

*~*~*

Despite the tension in the air, the waters around Corfu fell into a lull. The days came and went with the same layer of smoke and distant thunder of naval drills. Flocks of seagulls still drifted in behind the fishing vessels. Church bells rang morning and afternoon. Children played in the streets after school and the bars filled with music and laughter. If anything, the world _filled_ , brimming with distraction. There was a swarm of activity at all times as if Corfu truly believed that keeping busy would somehow protect them from the storm.

Louisa was thankful for Winter as it dragged its feet over the island. Frosts coated the gravel between the olives while they woke every morning to windows sheeted in ice. If nothing else, the weather kept the insect life at bay. Then it started to die away with coloured buds pushing through the bark and flares of vibrant green bowers surging into life. Spring chased off the last cold and brought with it a positive _thrum_ of life.

“You’ll be late...” Louisa murmured, barely awake. Normally Spiros was half way through a coffee by this time but he hadn’t moved from his warm nook in the bed beside her. She squeezed the hand he had draped her stomach and turned her head, trying to nudge him awake with a gentle spray of kisses. They only served to bury him deeper where he’d ensconced himself in her warmth.

“No drive today,” he mumbled. “Port – closed.”

A smile traced Louisa’s lips. They’d not spent many daylight hours together lately. She was sure she could find something to occupy them once he’d woken up.

*~*~*

Louisa stared at her reflection for quite some time, tugging and pulling at the fabric of her dress. It wasn’t doing her much good. Seven months into pregnancy and she’d just about reached the limit of her sewing prowess and theft of Spiros’ shirts. He of course, thought she looked ravishing at all times, drunk on some kind of male hormone while Louisa tilted her head severely, wondering which she resembled more closely – a whale or a piñata.

“I thought we were going into town?” Louisa asked, as Spiros took a turn in the opposite direction, heading toward the beaches near her beloved old white house instead. She knew the road well and it certainly didn’t go anywhere near the village.

“There is trouble today,” he replied, his right arm draped over the driver’s door in its usual ‘lounge’. “Protesters – they march with much noise. Sometimes fighting.” And there was absolutely no chance that he was going to let Louisa near any of it. It wasn’t so much that she was a woman – or pregnant. No. It was much worse. She was British – the enemy of the stirring Fascists groups. They were calling for blood to run in the streets but thankfully they shouted these things in Greek and Italian, not English. He never translated their slogans for her.

Louisa watched as the familiar scenery passed by. Hugh’s house in the hills was lovely but her first ramshackle wreck tucked on the edge of the quiet bay would always be ‘home’ to her. They were almost in sight of it. Any minute now the white façade would peek out from the cypress. “Has anyone taken the old house?”

“They try to lease it but the ceiling in the kitchen – it fall down again.”

Louisa grinned indulgently. “Well, it was never very good now, was it?” To which he laughed. “I’m glad it’s not been taken over by any of the soldiers. Is that where we are going?”

Spiros gave a guilty shrug. “I thought you might like to see it again.”

Indeed she did… As his car pulled up on the gravel road, Louisa felt her heart surge. Her gardens, always somewhat of a wild ramble, had thickened their hold – unfurling their vines onto the outside wall or encroaching the gravel. She wondered how long it would take for the weeds to swallow all trace of civilisation. Not particularly long…

“Oh yes, I see why they gave it a miss...” Louisa said, as Spiros offered his arm and helped her out of the car. Everything was more difficult with the growing mound of their child. “Those cracks are all new.”

“That was the earthquake we had last month,” Spiros nodded, as they walked around to the front where the portico bridged the gap between the house and the sea wall. “It is not safe to go inside – Louisa...”

Her hand slipped from his as she ducked into the shadow of the kitchen door. The inside made her smile. There was a fresh pile of sawdust and dirt on the floor along with several panels of plaster from the ceiling. Through the tear, she could see the old hardwood beams, strong as the day they were laid, holding the foundation of the next storey together. “At least your patchwork didn’t come down,” she pointed to the repairs Spiros had done for her the previous Summer. “Had I stayed here, I wager you’d have rebuilt the entire house, one piece of plastering at a time.”

Spiros fished for her, dragging her back from the dust and danger until she rested against his chest. He folded his arms around her and together they let their heads tilt back, taking in the entire vista of the house.

“You never put that railing back,” she nodded at the torn stain of rust. “I knocked that over on my first day.”

“Nearly hit me,” he remembered. “I thought you were wonderful.”

“Terrible liar…”

‘ _Spiros Spiros Spiros Spiros!’_

“Oy!” Louisa reeled around on the pair of magpies lined up along the wall, chirping Spiros’ name indignantly. “Bastards!”

“Magenpies!” Spiros exclaimed, cheerfully.

“I was rather hoping something might have eaten them by now...” Louisa muttered, stalking over towards them. It was all to no effect. The ‘magenpies’ as Spiros liked to call them, simply hopped about, squawking. “They used to do that to me all the time,” she added, giving up as a few feathers fluttered into the air. “Shouting your name when I was mad with you.” Or missing him… “Don’t feed them! You’ll only encourage it.”

But he did, scattering some seed along the wall from Gerry’s old bag. The birds preferred fresh meat but they picked hopefully at the offering. “ Good Magenpies...” Spiros cooed at them,  lovingly. “ Best deal I ever made.”

“What was?”

“With Gerry. He wants to go to the big house to find goldsfish. I say, ‘no’. Big is house is not a good idea. Their ponds is watched over. Gerry takes fish from there, he probably gets caught. I says to him, ‘I only take him if he makes Magenpies talk.’ Next week, Magenpies talk. I takes Gerry for fish.”

Louisa narrowed her eyes at Spiros. She couldn’t decide what to scold him over first –  enabling Gerry’s terrible methods of acquiring wildlife or Gerry’s terrible habit of teaching that acquired wildlife to frustrate her further. “ Between you and Theo – what chance do I have as a mother?”

S piros dragged her away from the Magenpies with a wicked grin.

“Oh no, Spiros – do I have to walk down all these steps?” She added, as he took her toward the track that twisted along the rock wall, down to the water. The tide was coming in, bringing the warm, clear waters with it. Strange, there were no boats in the bay this time. Usually they bobbed up and down on the gentle waves with idle threads of line sticking between the waves. There was nothing today – not even a curious bird.

L ouisa waddled down the steps with one hand on her stomach and Spiros at her side. They slipped off their shoes and trod their way over the warm gravel. It wasn’t scalding hot – the thick cypress bank  above the wall shading the edges of the beach from the worst of the morning sun.

“Oh gosh, look at that...” Louisa plucked the old bottle of sherry from the rocks. There was still a little alcohol washing about at the bottom. “This was you, saving my dignity if I remember correctly.”

“The first time I kissed you,” Spiros replied, watching her return the bottle to the rocks.

“Incorrect!” She teased. “I definitely kissed you. I may have been drunk as a bat, but I remember that much.”

S piros corrected that, brushing the back s of his hands down her cheeks.  He loved the way she struggled to keep eye contact through his soft affection. He’d never understand why Louisa withdrew from attention. One day, perhaps, he’d ask her. “ Allows me to fix this,” he said.

L ouisa knew what was coming. She’d learned the way his voice dropped to a hush when he was considering her lips and the particular feel of his hand sliding back into her hair to keep her steady.  He was almost there, half a breath from her lips when they both froze to the sound of a car turning into the gravel drive above.


	18. Chapter 18

Spiros placed his hand gently over Louisa’s mouth to stop her speaking. Her breath was warm on his skin but he knew the danger – voices carried near water almost like witchcraft. Occupied or not, they were not meant to be anywhere near the old house. In times of war, governments became rather vexatious about their property. The last thing they needed was to be caught trespassing near one of their buildings even if it felt ‘home’. Spiros especially was determined to keep a low profile, making himself indispensable as a driver in the hopes he’d be left off the inevitable conscription lists.

Together, they backed into the shadow until their spines pressed against the stone wall. It towered above, a mess of mottled pebble and ancient mortar in a constant state of crumble. In the sudden quiet, they could hear the brush of the cypress swaying against each other. A vehicle slowly turned from the road into the gravel driveway and pulled to a stop. Its engine cut and three car doors opened.

H e thought about staying on the beach but it was a tiny curve of pebble, cut off on three sides by water. It was a very beautiful trap but a trap none the less with nowhere to hide if someone decided to idly lean over the wall above or worse, go for a stroll. Spiros had to know who they were dealing with – perhaps they were simply trespassers like themselves.

Silently, Spiros tried to  convince Louisa to stay where she was, hidden in the shade but she refused, creeping along after him as he moved toward the steps. Louisa retrieved the sherry bottle  along the way , brandishing it as some kind of protection – whether it be for a lie or as a weapon – then together they started up the steps.

They did not risk ascending all the way to the top. A little over half way up the cover disappeared before the stairs ended right in the middle of the courtyard in full view of the house. Instead, they diverted off to the left while they still had some shadow to play with, scrambling behind the hedge of scrappy bushes that grew wild in the dirt along the hill. It was a well worn area, played in by Louisa’s children and only recently reclaimed by clusters of weed. Louisa took over, leading Spiros to a place where they could squat down out of view. A task which was awkward for Louisa.

It was worth it for the uninterrupted view of the driveway.

There was  a beautiful Balilla 1-100 parked beside Spiros’ taxi. This one was new with firm, curved edges  over the wheel arches and a shining coat. It had been sprayed dark olive in accordance with military code with only a single layer of dust marring its veneer. Obviously fresh off the ferry.  There wasn’t a scratch on it – not even from a careless local.

One guard dressed in uniform sat in the back of the car on the passenger side, his head down in a book while three more soldiers crowded around Spiros’ taxi, co n fused by its presence.

“Greek army...”

Spiros shook his head, peering through the hedge beside her. The soldiers might have been wearing  a convinci ng Greek army uniform but they were clearly speaking Italian. Not only that, their manner was  _wrong_ .  One of them touched the bonnet of  Spiros’ car – feeling the heat of the engine.

“Why the-”

Louisa grabbed his arm and tugged him back into the bush sharply  with a rustle of leaves . “What are you doing?”

“He touches my car-”

“Spiros!” She hissed. If he hadn’t looked so hurt she might have jabbed him sharply in the arm but as it was, he was in real distress about the safety of his taxi. Louisa was almost certain that he loved that vehicle more than her. She was definitely left with that impression when she’d damned near driven it off a cliff.

“Nobody touches my car...” He trailed off. “Italians,” Spiros added. “They speaking Italian.”

“That’s not right...” Louisa felt something akin to fear stir in the pit of her stomach. “Why would Italian soldiers dress as Greeks? Hey – _hey_...” She was forced to use both hands to restrain Spiros when one of the soldiers leaned over the taxi and started going through the jacket he’d left in the back.  Spiros’ blood was boiling. He was extremely protective of the few things that he had.

Louisa’s mind went into overdrive, running a sequence of lies quickly through to their natural conclusions. It was a defence mechanism honed by years of living in society as a single woman with four children treading the edge of poverty.  There weren’t many low risk routes out of this situation. “Spiros-” She had to say his name twice to drag his attention back to her. “I think we only have once chance  to do this . Do you trust me?”

*~*~*

It wasn’t even a question for Spiros. Like all Greek men, he’d follow the fallen gods into Hades  and to him, she was a creature  of the clouds.  He was the mortal who’d thieved her from the divine realm. Or, as  Lu garetzia  liked to remind him,  _overly theatrical_ . But then, Spiros was Greek. It was part of his soul.

Louisa threw a bit of dirt at Spiros, ruffled his hair and re-did the front of her own blouse incorrectly. Making sure she had the bottle of sherry in one hand, she stood up and dragged him with her, leaning against him in an almost drunken manner to make it look as though they were a pair of wayward lovers.  Her wager was that the Italians would maintain their cover rather than murder them and if they really  _were_ Greeks then a couple of libidinous stowaways were easier ‘moved on’ than questioned.

They were spotted as soon as they stepped onto the patio by the two soldiers left standing  between the cars.  The other  pair were busy carrying boxes o f heavy equipment inside the decrepit house.  They were still in there somewhere, shuffling things about.

“ _Oy – stop there – you two – stop if you please!”_ One of them growled, in rather harshly accented Greek.

Louisa turned her head and giggled deliberately into Spiros’ chest, making sure to brandish the empty bottle.

“ _This – is this your car?”_ But before anyone could answer the question, the soldier added. _“No peoples allowed here. Government building. You must go. Go now.”_ He was extremely curt, almost nervously so. His brown eyes searched the water and air while his ears remained pricked to the gravel road behind.

Spiros raised his free hand in a mixture of greeting and apology. “Sorrys!” He proclaimed, hamping up his usual levity of what he _hoped_ appeared as a bungled affair.

“ _Your wife?”_ The man asked, stepping in front of the couple before they were able to get anywhere near the car. He had taken an obvious dislike to Louisa.

The terrible songs in the village street rang in Spiros’ ears. They were sung with sincerity, bellowed from the lungs of men just like this one – youths, barely twenty and strongly built. Men who remembered nothing of the first war except the poverty that followed. Raised by dictators struggling to rise in the power vacuum, there was nothing more dangerous than the spawn of desperation. They’d been wholeheartedly swept up in Mussolini’s failed socialist dream – murder the rich and then enslave the poor only they couldn’t see their own heavy shackles for sake of regalia. The simple truth was that Mussolini’s men weren’t eyeing Greece off to liberate the poor, they wanted to wipe Greece clean of Greeks and restore the Roman Empire of old. It wasn’t even a whisper. Spiros heard it shouted from the docks while he waited to pick up shaken members of the army and printed on the may posters that were glued to the fragile, peeling walls. Greece was a tinder box that had started to burn along the borders of Albania, sending a layer of permanent smoke into the air. In the last few days, those casual plumes had become cracks of thunder.

“No,” Spiros replied. “Not my wife. Somebody else’s, eh?”

The sound of shuffling boxes inside the house paired with a brisk,  _“Hurry up!”_ from the other man in the car seemed to change his mind. He stepped aside, allowing Spiros and Louisa to move towards the taxi.

Spiros opened the door for Louisa, making sure that she was safely inside first. He’d only just closed her door when one of the Magenpies fluttered down to the gravel and chanted a gleeful,  _‘Spiros! Spiros! Spiros!’_ directly in his face.

It became painfully obvious to everyone that Spiros was  _not_ a casual trespasser. Suddenly the risk that he knew what was going on soared – as did the risk to the Italian officers.

The two remaining soldiers emerged from the house. The most senior, in both years and experience, stared hard at Spiros  and found something dangerous .  _“I know him.”_ He said, this time in Italian, not Greek.  The shift in language was alarming, as if he’d decided to drop the rouse entirely. _“He drives for the military.”_

_Shit…_

“Spiros!” Louisa shouted desperately, as the men rushed toward them all at once. Their intent was clearly serious for they’d let their hats slide off and flop into the dirt. She threw open the car door as the first arrived, smashing him across the chest with surprising force. He ended up on his arse in the gravel – more shocked than injured. “Get in the car! Spiros!”

Instead of opening the door, Spiros put his hands on the frame and vaulted over the side, slipping into  the driver’s seat. He went straight for the gears.  H is trusty taxi gulped into life. Something which normally felt fast dragged for eternity. A few seconds was all the soldiers needed to encircle the car, shrieking orders at them to get out.  It was a mixture of languages. Spiros ignored  them , trying desperately to get the car  out of park . A set of arms reached in on Louisa’s side, hooking around her shoulders.  D espite her shrieking protests  they tried to drag her right out over the side. Louisa startled the man for a second time as she swung the empty bottle of sherry furiously over her shoulder, crashing into the man’s head. This time there was deafening  _crack_ as bone split apart and blood exploded over the car. Louisa was dropped roughly back to her seat while the soldier staggered backwards  into the arms of his friend , holding his bleeding head in shock. If they  _were_ Greek, that would have been a hangable offence but these men were clearly invading soldiers who’d broken cover.

... and they knew that  _they_ knew that...

S piros started shouting frantically in Greek  when he saw  the senior soldier  pull out his pistol and  aim it at  the car. He reached over, grabbed Louisa by her shirt and  tugged her roughly sideways a s the first shot cracked off, missing them. The bullet soured over their heads and pulverised the rough bark of an ailing cypress. The Magenpies launched off the ground in a black and white panic of feathers, crashing into one of the other soldiers, startling him just long enough for Spiros’ taxi to start moving.

Spiros kept Louisa pinned down, her head almost in his lap between the gear sticks. He was terrified, his hands shaking violently as another gunshot rang out. This one shattered their windscreen, flinging glass into their faces. Spiros swerved. Louisa squealed in panic, shutting her eyes as the glass carpeted her. She could feel the engine roaring underneath and Spiros scraping the gears before they were ready in a clumsy manner she’d never heard before.

Pieces of glass rattled across the bonnet, raining from the car as it turned out of the driveway and met up with the road. Behind them, Louisa heard  the other car start . The soldiers had decided that letting them escape would be fatal for their cover so they  _pursued_ .

“Their car – faster than ours!” Spiros warned, as Louisa carefully sat up and risked a glance behind. They’d just rounded a steep curve, momentarily cutting the soldiers off from view.

“Spiros – they’re going to kill us…” Louisa paled at the sight of his face. Spiros was covered in a hundred tiny scratches from the shattered windscreen. She must have appeared in a similar state because he went a lighter shade of olive every time he looked in her direction. “You know the roads. Can we lose them in the hills?”

“Lose them?” He tried to think of the area but there weren’t a lot of roads that led anywhere helpful. Almost every track ended at old farms full of families. He couldn’t lead the soldiers there. “No but maybe their car cannot travel roughly.”

*~*~*

The poor taxi was a faithful, tough old girl. It set down the road with strict determination, riding over the dreadful washboard surface that shook the last of the glass either off the front or into the seats with them. Spiros had turned off the main road and taken a little track that wove around the outside of the island, heading to one of the larger towns  which housed a new military facility. It had been built there to take in the strategic height and unusually flat land which they’d turned into a makeshift airstrip. Spiros had been there several times in the last few months, ferrying soldiers. He was hoping that when their pursuers worked out where they were headed, they’d give up instead of facing off against an overwhelming force of soldiers.

That was the plan, at least. First they had to stay far enough ahead to make it there. For a while it seemed to be a good idea. Spiros’ taxi raced over the surface causing an ungodly amount of damage to itself.  The Italians slowed significantly, weaving from side to side to avoid the worst potholes. Though they tried, the surface was too rough for any of their pot-shots to find a target. That didn’t stop them trying. Every few minutes another gunshot split the air, making Spiros and Louisa jump slightly in their seats.

“Are we being invaded?” Louisa asked, shouting above the noise.

“Not with four soldiers,” Spiros replied, nearly losing hold of the steering wheel as the car shook wildly, catching the edge of a particularly brutal hole. Something snapped off the underside of his car and bounced away. “Probably they spy.”

“That might explain the boxes.” It could have been carrying equipment. Radios. Transmitters. The old house had the perfect spot to monitor the Allied ships traversing the horizon. “Christ!” Louisa covered her face, as a gunshot hit the side mirror next to her door. A shard of metal flew right by her at speed, slicing a gash across her sleeve. She didn’t realise it had cut right through to her flesh until her shirt turned red.

It was a last hurrah from the Italians. Someone in their car had brought out a map and realised that the risk of chasing the car was about to be outweighed by the risk of them being captured on Greek soil. They came to a stop in a cloud of dust then turned off, retreating back the way they’d come. Even with the danger passed, Spiros kept his foot on the accelerator, hurtling them toward the base.  It appeared at the crest of the hill in front where the barren fields of grass casually ended in white cliffs. They were high enough now to see the beautiful blue strip of ocean on both sides. There were grey dots on every horizon – blemishes caused by marauding ships.

“Spiros – slow down...”

“No. No… We must stops them from leaving the island.”

Their arrival at the barbed wire fence caused somewhat of a stir. While Louisa spoke clearly and with more sense than Spiros,  none of the guards on duty could understand  English leaving it to Spiros’ panicked jabbing at the air and what sounded like gratuitous embellishments. Either way, three trucks raced off down the road in the faint hope of catching the  foreign  soldiers. Spiros and Louisa were questioned for a good fifteen minutes before they were allowed to leave.  They’d have been kept longer but  Spiros knew half the soldiers on the base, all of whom vouched for his character.

A visiting British officer even came out to check on Louisa. His attentions were perfunctory while she  took the opportunity to interrogate  him for every whisper of  news she could get about Bournemouth.  She worried for Margo. There were reports of bombing raids that reached the coast, destroying the edges of seaside towns.  All  the officer could do to calm  Louisa was promise to follow up with his contact  who was coming in with reinforcements in several weeks . “Ma’am, there is bombing in every part of the country,” he’d i nsisted ,  which did nothing to quiet her, “but this boarding house I promise to check on. Now  _please_ ...”

Spiros had intended to drive them home to the olive grove but Louisa squeezed his arm quite seriously and demanded to be taken to her son.

*~*~*

Theo occupied a deck chair which he’d brought unwisely close to the edge of the jetty, chasing the sun. Beside him sat a large white bucket full of salt water and finally, wedged between his knees, an old plastic fishing reel. The line vanished into the water where it had almost certainly been picked clean of bait long ago. It was a new sport – sleepfishing and Theo was particularly good at it.

The rest of the Whitehouse was mercifully empty. His wife had taken Larry and Nancy into town leaving him in a perfect state of serenity. That was until he heard a car _rattle_ up to the house followed almost immediately by Louisa shouting, _‘Larry!!!’_ at the top of her lungs like some kind of deranged bird.

“Oh Theo! There you are!” Louisa rushed over to him, a little awkwardly given her sizeable bump. She was chased down the jetty by Spiros. A common sight on Corfu. “Where is Larry? Is he in? Larry!” She continued, apparently entirely oblivious to the alarming image they both cut.

“Louisa! Spiros!” Theo dropped his fishing line into the bucket with a splash. He looked them over, head to toe, almost comically. The pair of them were covered in blood – most of it cosmetic but there were a few gashes, particularly on Louisa’s left arm, that had left deep stains in their clothes. “What has happened?” Theo’s gaze averted to the taxi which was in a terrible state – missing a windscreen and side mirror. “Have you been in an accident?”

“What?” Louisa had completely forgotten what she must look like. “Uh – oh _that_ – no.”

Spiros caught up and took an extra step toward Theo with a serious expression rarely seen on Spiros’ warm features. He looked Theo dead in the eye and without a word shared between them, the other man guessed what have happened.

“Oh dear...” He whispered. Theo ushered them inside at once and forced them to take up chairs in the front room. Spiros waited his turn, staring at out the window to see if there was any unusual activity in the bay while Theo brought out his medical kit.

“Lately it is animals that I attend,” Theo admitted, as he pulled a stool up in front of Louisa, which he perched on, “but considering my new position it is high time I practice. Now,” he brushed Louisa’s hair from her face carefully, dislodging the last few flecks of glass from her skin, “forgive me.”

Theo’s request for forgiveness was on account of her shirt, which he had to unbuttoned carefully and pushed off her shoulders. It was torn in multiple places while some of the thickest puddles of blood had pieces of glass stuck to the fabric. He noted Spiros’ reluctance to look over, keeping his vigil by the window instead. Theo knew why. It was remarkably common for husbands to shy away when their wives were hurt. They didn’t like to see the damage… To be reminded of the fragility of life. Technically, Spiros and Louisa weren’t married yet but they’d been carrying on that way for so long that people had started to take it for granted.

“Not long to go with this one...” Theo nodded, at Louisa’s pending child. “Do not worry,” he assured her, “these cuts are superficial. Nothing to be concerned about. I’ll have you patched up in no time then I’ll have a go at that one over there...” He tilted his head in Spiros’ direction. “Does it hurt?”

She shook her head as Theo wiped clean the deepest gash on her arm. It needed a few stitches, which he started on. “To tell you the truth, Theo – I can’t feel anything at all.”

“Perfectly normal as well,” he assured her. “You’ve had a fright. Right now you have adrenaline running through your veins. It dulls the pain for a while. That will come later. As will the bruising.” He touched her upper arms gently where the skin was starting to darken in what was obviously a set of hand prints. “Larry and Nancy are at Dr Petridis for a check up – she is further along than you. They’ll be back in a few hours You are most welcome to have a cup of tea and wait for them.”

Louisa shook her head. “No. No I was being silly… A – panicky mother.”

Theo gave her a lopsided grin as he finished. A drop of blood had grown from one of the small cuts beneath her eye, almost like a tear.

Spiros was more difficult to attend. Though he went to great lengths not to show it, he felt every tug of the stitches down his neck. Theo also had to pull out a curved piece of glass, muttering something about him being extremely lucky that it had missed his jugular.

An explosion rattled the window beside Spiros as Theo finished up. A few minutes later, black smoke clawed into the sky, streaming up from the bay around the corner in the rough direction of Louisa’s old house. “That was probably their boat.” Spiros voiced what they were all thinking.

“Does that mean it’s over?” Asked Louisa.

Neither man replied. They both knew that this was only the beginning.

“It is unlikely that they are the only Italian spies on Corfu,” Theo added. “To attempt something so bold as taking over a government building, they must have friends higher up in Greek command. We should all be careful. Particularly you, Spiros… If everything goes wrong, it will begin where it did last time – at the fort.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, in real life I'm actually a very poor farmer. If you enjoy what you're reading and feel inclined to support a struggling writer, consider shouting me a coffee over at: https://ko-fi.com/ellymellyvids You'll actually be helping us buy feed to keep our cattle over the Winter. ❤ To you all.

Nancy gave birth to a girl ahead of schedule. The unnamed child was so delicate that Doctor Petridis insisted she be transferred to _Athens_. It all happened so fast that Louisa never had the opportunity to see her first granddaughter except for the fading smear of the ferry as it headed around the bay in front of the olive grove. It was a foreign feeling, as though one of her own children had been ripped away. There was nothing to channel her frustration towards. It was no-one’s fault that the impatient Durrell came early and certainly no fault of poor Petridis that he didn’t have the equipment to care for her. That left Louisa tossing pebbles off the edge of the cliff, collecting somewhere on the tiny, rough patch of untouched beach below.

Louisa sat in the shade, watching the ferry reduce for more than an hour until the smoke curling across the water smothered it entirely from view. She was an awkward creature on the ground – awkward everywhere, actually. It was a condition she knew all too well would only worsen in the last few weeks. At least in India her husband had workmen and housekeepers on the estate who offered her a hand from time to time, even one lovely lady that made her tea with English biscuits. Sadly the biscuits went soggy in the humidity but the tea had been lovely.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m crying,” Louisa admitted, when Lugaretzia emerged from pruning olives and lowered herself to the dirt beside her.

“Your granddaughter is unwell. Your son has left to cross waters with warships. You worry not to see them again.”

“Well – _yes_ – I guess but...” That wasn’t _quite_ how she’d have put it. That was the thing about Lugaretzia, she always cut to the point without regard for subtlety.

“That Theodore – he go too. One month and he be on one of those ships. Probably he die soon. Turks.”

Honestly, that did little to help Louisa’s silent, unchecked tears. She and Spiros still bore the scars from their encounter and however much Spiros lied to her about the severity of the whole thing, she’d gleaned enough from her new friend at the military base to know everything was about to go to utter shit.

“They fight again in Albania,” Lugaretzia added, more seriously this time. “I listen to the radio in bar. They say Greeks outnumbered, eight men to one but that we fight – fight so hard they Italians they runs. Greeks drink to glory tonights I thinks.”

That, realised Louisa, explained the extra dark layer of smoke folding its way from the mainland. On a clear day she could see Albania – even though they were at the wrong end of the island for it. It was always there, looming at the edge of the horizon. She was not much of a seaman but even she could row a boat to the opposing shore. If Albania fell to the Axis forces, then Corfu would certainly be next. Kingdoms had been trying to conquer it for ten thousand years.

“Excuse me, Lugaretzia, would you mind helping me up? I think I hear Spiros.”

*~*~*

Louisa found Spiros standing beside his poor taxi, holding a tattered piece of cloth. He was polishing the filth off its paintwork whilst avoiding the scratches and dents caused during their escape. They bled as profusely as any wound, at least to him, so he treated them with tenderness. He’d all but cried the night he’d driven it home after the attack then set about knocking out the rest of the windscreen from the frame. With red eyes and bleeding hands, he spent hours re-attaching the side mirror and then _she’d_ spent hours wrapping his hands in bandages, complete with a scowl.

Despite his attentions, the vehicle remained visibly damaged which led to a sharp decline in his work. No one, not even the military, wanted to be chauffeured around in a beaten-up car and now he could not afford to have the windscreen replaced. Ordinarily he’d borrow a little money but the bank wasn’t giving out a cent.

With a nasty _crunch_ , the side mirror fell loose again. He shook his head, entirely at a loss at what to do.

“Kalimera, Spiros...”

Spiros looked up, tugged off his hat and nodded with his usual, “Good afternoon, Mrs Durrells.” It was almost a joke between them now – an agreement to maintain _something_ of their early years.

“One of these days, you’d better make that, ‘Mrs Halikiopoulos’ or we’ll never outrun the scandal...” She reminded him playfully, leaning in to kiss his cheek. They had to meet at angles now, forever dancing around the rather inconvenient child growing between them. Spiros came up with a different name for it every week.

He smiled in reply and leaned casually against his taxi as he’d always done. Though he very much wished to marry her as soon as the paperwork was finalised, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to tie her name to his current wife. It was completely irrational so Spiros never said a word.

“I am sorrys about Larry and your granddaughter.”

“I know, me too.” She was forced to pause as he lifted his hand to wipe away the partially dry tears she’d forgotten.

“All will be well,” he assured her, with absolute certainty. “Athens hospital is very good. My second child, we went there for her. No trouble.” _Expensive_ but no trouble…

“I expected your wife and children to already be in Athens,” Louisa added. “At least, that was my understanding.”

“True. Her father has a house for them and a place in the nearby school but she wished to wait out the move until the holidays. It is better, she thinks, for their education to continue for as long as possible. It is bad enough – with all the fighting – at least this way they still learn.”

“I tend to agree with her,” Louisa nodded. “Quite sensible.”

Spiros found it odd when either Louisa or his wife referenced each other. It was an occurrence happening more and more. That was perfectly normal and really he should have been thrilled that they weren’t at each others’ throats as some of the village men had warned him.

“Are you quite all right, Spiros?” Louisa asked, when he fell silent, staring into nowhere.

“Yes – of courses.” Then he turned and pointed to the Western sky. “It is lucky the child came now and not tomorrow. There is, I thinks, a storm on its way for us. I have seen this kind of cloud before. Last time – there was hail and pouring rain for weeks. The lower valleys flooded and some of the soft mountains had – how do you say it -”

“Landslides...” Louisa interpreted his strange hand movements.

“Yes – landslidings.”

Gosh, he was so sweet when he was sad that Louisa honestly could not stop herself tilting slightly further this time to thieve a lingering kiss. It took him a moment to catch up, lifting the hand holding his cap to cup the back of her head and drag her a touch closer. He smelled of the road – all dust, pine and that afternoon beer he never told her about. Then she felt him graze that dreadful rag accidentally against her skin. She batted him away.

“You should put your beautiful car in the shed,” Louisa whispered, nudging him slightly with her nose, “if there really _is_ a storm coming.”

He wiped the grease he’d left from her cheek and nodded.

*~*~*

It was an apocalypse.

Louisa’s hands flew to her ears, covering them from the deafening _snap_ of thunder. The sound pulsed in the air, reverberating with such force that it shook concrete dust off the walls. There were lengths of copper scattered all through the olive grove which attracted direct strikes. Every time a thread of lightning caught one of them, the world transformed into a white hell full of sound and fury. Being one of the higher points on an island in the middle of the sea, they’d become the target of vengeful gods.

“Shouldn’t – shouldn’t it be raining?” Louisa shouted, over the noise.

Spiros returned from closing windows, taking the stairs three at a time then leapt off the landing. He found Louisa in the living room, peeking through one of the windows at the grove. They all had their heavy velvet curtains drawn just in case the glass shattered. “No – always, it starts like this.”

“I’ve been here nearly four years and I’ve never seen a storm this big!”

“Me – only five, that I can remember.” He ducked involuntarily as the world descended into deep, booming sound. Spiros felt it clatter in his ribs.

Sometimes it rolled over itself and then at other times it was more of a _crack_ as though Zeus himself had taken hold of the sky and ripped it in two. She was definitely starting to understand why the myths devoted so much time the thunderbolt-hurling patriarch. If Louisa hadn’t been a modern woman she might have thought the world was ending. “How long does this last?”

“Days. Maybe three.”

“Days?!”

If he intended to fashion a reply Spiros didn’t get the chance to voice it. While the sky continued to flicker wildly an ominous _hiss_ filled the air as all the olive trees bent over, dragging their leaves on the ground. They changed colour, becoming puddles of silver against the dirt which in turn was lifted into a beige fog.

“Here comes the wind. After this, then it will rain like nothing you have seen in England.”

“No, you are quite right. Should this happen in England they might declare the world finished but I learned a thing or two about rain in India. There were weeks when you could not walk through the downpour for fear of drowning. But that was rain – this – this is violence.”

The rain hit the building as a sheet. There was no grand build up. One minute the world was locked in an obscene light show and the next the ground had transformed into lakes underfoot. The lightning continued, circling the island. There were plenty of strikes over the ocean, stalking the iron warships with daggers of light. Rivers formed around the house, wearing tracks in the dust like veins popping to the surface.

“Is the house leaking?” Louisa turned in slightly mad circles, half expecting to be hit by a torrent of water. There wasn’t a single drop inside.

“I do not think so...” Spiros replied, cautiously. “Definitely flooding in your old house.”

Louisa was quite amused by the thought. “Oh, almost certainly – knee deep in the kitchen by now, floating with the remains of the roof and several angry Magenpies. Whatever those spies tried to hide in there, it’s certainly ruined by now.”

“Serves them right for trying to take over the Durrell house.” There was a twinkle in his eye that seemed to suggest that one day they’d reclaim that ramshackle old dwelling, despite its flaws. It felt irrepressibly like, ‘home’.

“You know...” said Louisa, looking back out the window into the wild exterior. It was positively dire outside – a type of hell on Earth. “...I’ve grown to quite like the storm.” Another rip of thunder. The sound of hail hitting the tin and terracotta. “While ever this is raging, no one would dare attack the island. It’s _ours_. Maybe the gods conspire in our favour?”

Spiros fetched one of the wool throws laid over the couch and brought it to Louisa, draping it around her shoulders. She tugged the edges in, folding herself into the warmth.

“Are you all right?” She asked, catching sight of the nasty scar on his neck. He’d taken the bandages off more than a week ago but the wound from the glass hadn’t quite healed.

“It is nothing,” he assured her, subconsciously turning his collar up to hide it. “Though Doctor Petridis tells me I must stop scratching my stitches or he give me white cone – like for the dogs.”

Louisa broke into hysterics.

*~*~*

Assembled in the West of the _Ionian Sea_ , hiding off the heel of _Italy’s_ boot, waited a frightening naval force poised for invasion. Mussolini, acting on advice from his political negotiators installed in ‘peace’ discussions in the _Corfu_ parliament, had waited patiently for the bulk of the Greek navy to head South toward _Crete_. Even the British ships which usually clogged the crystal waters had retreated to refuel and take stock in several of the smaller islands leaving the strategic stronghold alarmingly undefended. He had even given the order to proceed with the invasion, badgered into action by the embarrassing loss to peasant Greek fighters in Northern Albania.

The weather, however, was beyond anyone’s control. From _nowhere_ the storm gathered and turned the famous glass sea into a nightmare. Even the largest warships rocked from side to side, snapping free heavy artillery mounted to the deck and tossing it into the water. Several smaller craft were knocked onto their keels and promptly sunk with all hands on board with no vessel able to traverse the choppy waters to render rescue.

Mussolini’s orders were not only delayed, they were entirely rescinded for the sake of the Navy. Attempting an attack on the defenceless _Corfu_ island in this heathenous display threatened to sever a major limb from the Italians. So, with festering hate, _Italy’s_ dictator was forced to watch the dark grey band in the South Eastern sky and pull tarpaulins over his Air Force.

_Corfu_ once again slipped through its noose.

* ~*~*

As it turned out, Hugh’s wonderful house _did_ leak.

“Spiros… There is a RIVER in the house!”

He ambled through the room, carrying a bucket that was sloshing over the sides with water already. He opened the side door to empty it only to be hit in the face with a gust of wet wind. Louisa covered her face as everything in the house kicked up with the sudden gale until Spiros managed to wrestle the door closed. He turned around and laid against it, panting and dripping. The wood rattled at his shoulders, trying to fling itself open.

“Spiros.”

“Yeses.” He had heard her the first time. “River. I knows.” When Louisa tried to abscond with the bucket to lend a hand, he chased after her, complaining. “Noes. You are _pregnant_. I carry water. Louisa!”

Despite the original builder’s best intentions of putting the house at the top of the hill, they had not quite managed it. There was just enough slope above the house to collect water and funnel it through the crack beneath the side door. The water then flowed quite happily all the way through the middle of the house, gushing with quite a bit of force, full of mud and dead olive leaves – which had started to collect in the doorway at the lower end. Of course, as soon as this tragedy happened, the entire lower level began to flood.

The only remedy Louisa could fashion was to open that door and let the water do as it wished, running through the centre of the house. They sat together on the steps, out of the deluge and watched.

“Hugh will not be happy when we tell him what happened to his house...” Spiros observed, as an actual olive branch floated by.

Louisa lifted her eyebrows. “Honestly, it was due for a good wash. I don’t think he swept the floors once the entire time he was here. The whole place, from one side to the other, half an inch deep in dirt.”

At least the flooding contained itself to the hallway and part of the kitchen. The rest remained relatively peaceful. Even the hail had passed. No doubt they’d find a few limbs snapped off in the grove but there were no broken windows to mend and his car remained safe in the shed.

“It is probably not even raining in Athens,” Spiros continued, when he saw Louisa looking off into nowhere. He had learned that this meant her thoughts lay with her children. She’d gone and scattered them around the globe.

The rain continued for four days but mercifully the gale and lightning tapered off to the odd rumble in the distance. Louisa lay in bed, casually working her way through Hugh’s supply of novels. _A Passage_ _t_ _o India_ sat fondly in her hands while _The Mysterious Affair at Styles_ waited on the table. Spiros often made her read to him, especially the novel in her hands. He loved hearing about the elephants and jungle – less so about the political troubles. She skipped casually through those pages and instead lingered in the magical caves, adoring the shine in his eyes and his complete rapt demeanour.

“One day, do you believe that we may go there, to these caves?” He asked her, rolling onto his side. The evening was dragging on. Somehow their oil lamps had outshone the silver hue of the stormy world. Now the yellow hue swamped Spiros’ shrinking figure.

“I hate to tell you, Spiros but those caves are not real. They are imagined by the author.” His disappointment nearly broke her heart. “But there are many caves in India that we can go to instead. Real ones. Cities – temples, sprawling tea fields and villages set up in the mountains, perched at the snowline. Some of them even have treasures, forgotten by kings.”

“I would likes to see these things with you.”

“Then I promise,” Louisa set the book down on the covers and turned towards him as best she could. “When this dreadful war is over, we’ll all go. Theo. Gerry. Whatever name you decide on for this one.”

“As long as Master Gerrys does not collect snakes – or spiders – or insects of any kind,” Spiros insisted.

“I shall ensure he sticks to more manageable creatures. Bengal Tigers. Vultures. Asiatic Lions. Golden Jackal.”

“You make-ah these things up, Mrs Durrells, to tease me.”

*~*~*

The storm ended as suddenly as it had begun – with a crack opening in the clouds and golden fronds of sunbeams unfurling into the grey. They hit the ocean in front, turning the mess of waves into an eerie glow. As they stepped outside onto their ruined driveway, the olive grove dripped relentlessly in a false rain. Where ever the light caught the droplets, they shone as jewels suspended along the supple limbs.

“Why musts I go?” Spiros complained, as Louisa all but forced him to fetch his taxi from the shed.

“Because Sven is half way down a valley, all alone. You saw how much water we had through the house. Imagine what has become of that shack of his. It surely must be a boat by now. Please, Spiros.”

“He is nots alone, he has goats.”

“That is _not_ helpful!”

“You are pregnant.”

“The quicker you go, the sooner you’ll be back.”

“I am not goings.”

*~*~*

Spiros muttered irritably the entire way to Sven’s shack. The road was in chaos. Through Hugh’s grove, the track was okay with the olive roots going a long way toward holding everything in place but in the open, where the grass crept up to the road on both sides, most of the gravel had been washed into the valley leaving nothing but thick mud subsiding into pools that clawed hungrily at the taxi’s wheels. Several times he had to coax it out of a deep patch. Everything went sideways as the back wheels slipped. Then somehow they found traction again and Spiros lurched forward. The damaged side window scratched against the paint. He flinched every time.

Louisa was right to worry. Spiros noticed that parts of the towering mountains had collapsed into the valley, revealing grey bones that shone like scars. At the bottom lay Sven’s sprawling fields – devoid of the usual white goats – with a slightly lopsided stone shack at the heart. Still standing. Surrounded by muddy yards, rockeries, fruit trees and an almost decorative line of cypress – one of which had toppled over in the wind and smashed in half. Even more strange was the Greek military vehicle partially submerged and rolled onto its side in his front yard.

As Spiros approached he could see the tire marks in the mud where it had tried to brake, slipped to the side at speed then flipped right over and continued on down the hill until it ended up in Sven’s front yard. He tried not to loiter his gaze too longingly near its intact windscreen.

Spiros parked his car carefully, out of the path of trees and other cars then trudged across the soft, wet paddock. He could feel his shoes sinking in the grass and see the water rise up from within. Somehow the barren hills had transformed into a swamp.

There was a good deal of bleating coming from the other side of Sven’s door. Cautiously, Spiros knocked and shouted, “Mr Svens!” to announce his presence. He was answered by a goat, screaming as it was chased around the house. This went on for some time before Sven made it to the door and dragged it open. He was the picture of exhaustion and absolutely filthy – covered in mud from his blonde hair all the way to bare feet. His left hand held back the offending goat which was trying to run wild.

“Spiros?” Sven asked, surprised to find the taxi driver at his door. “Is everything okay?”

“Thats should be my question, Mr Sven.” Spiros replied, tilting his head at the sight. “It seems to me that you are in need of help.”

“Probably.”

“Mrs Durrells says that I must come here and help you – so I helps.” Spiros insisted, sliding into the house despite protests from the goat. “Why, Mr Svens, are there goats inside your house?”

Sven made sure that the door was closed before released the captive goat. It ran wild immediately, bucking and canting off to join its friends which had all assembled in the living room – walking through their own shit. “Too dangerous in the storm for him – now the eagles are out, searching for animals to pick off. They must stay here for at least a day while the world settles. The continuous joys of farming.”

“At least inside your house is dry.”

“Yours isn’t?”

Spiros shook his head. “No – great deal of water. No goats though.” One of those goats pushed right past Spiros, nearly knocking him into a chair. “Oh noes – your accordion!” Spiros plucked the scraps of paper concertina from a table and turned it around sadly. “What happen?”

“Don’t ever have goats, Spiros. They try to eat everything.” Sven was exhausted. He laid against one of the stone walls, taking a moment to catch his breath. He felt as if he’d been awake for four days straight through the storm. Actually, that’s exactly what he’d done.

“There is a car in your vegetable garden.”

“Oh that. Greek soldiers from the mainland – they have not learned yet that roads made of dirt are not like those of stone. They are in the living room with the goats if you wish to meet them. Prisoners of the storm. Tea?”

Spiros shrugged. Why not?

Inside the living room he found no less that five soldiers sharing the floor with a variety of goats and chickens. However they’d tried to separate themselves in the beginning, that had all gone to shit. Now they lay together – one man on the couch with three chickens on his chest. Another on the floor using a sleeping goat as a pillow. The others were playing cards in the light of the cracked window while another goat bucked its head, trying to eat their hair.

“Kalimera...” Spiros started cautiously.

Instead of replying, those playing cards roared in either protest or success as something was won. “Ah – Spiros! You have car, yes?” One of them men rolled over and shouted. “We must go to town urgently. Orders. Take us to town, Spiros.”

“The great Spiros, yes – we are saved.” Said another.

Sprios folded his arms defiantly across his chest, sensing an opportunity.


	20. Chapter 20

Despite Spiros’ best efforts, one of the Greek soldiers had to be left behind. It simply wasn’t possible to squish them all into his open-topped car. As it was, poor vehicle lumbered off down the drenched gravel road, carving out a set of tire marks with its heavy load. It had taken on a slightly disconcerting _squeak_ since its accident. Spiros did his best to ignore it as he leaned over the side, draping his arm and tilting his head to the sky.

The sun had recently emerged to shed its milky light over the world, catching in the water that lay over the hills. It glistened blue in patches, as though someone had shattered a mirror over the valley and left its sharp pieces in the grass.

Sven stood in his field and waved until Spiros and his passengers vanished down into the next valley. He returned to the lopsided farmhouse, pushing one of the goats away from the door as he sidled inside. It lingered nearby, plotting its escape while nibbling on the skirt of his armchair. The little bastard had torn strips off the couch as well. If there was ever a need for a blood sacrifice, he’d certainly earmarked this idiot for the role.

“You – stay and watch the goats,” Sven said, to the remaining soldier.

The Greek soldier furrowed his brow but as this was the middle of nowhere, he wasn’t exactly in a position to protest. He side-eyed the nearest goat. “Where go?” He half-demanded of Sven, in heavily accented English.

“To check on the British woman – the one that lives on the olive hill.”

“Ah. Yes. I sees.” He nodded. One way or another, every Greek on _Corfu_ had heard of Mrs Durrell and her rabble of children. “How long do I stay?”

Sven shrugged. “Until someone comes to collect you… Thunder?” There was a slight delay before the damp puppy padded into the room obediently and tilted its head questioningly to one side. His ears flopped in the most adorable fashion. Even though he was growing into a ‘dog’ he maintained his doe-eyed wonder. “Stay. Guard.”

Thunder did not understand. Sven tried the instruction again in Greek but all he got in reply were playful yaps so Sven gave up to rattled around in the kitchen instead, filling a basket with a few jars of preserve, dried herbs and a container of butter – all of which he hoped to trade for a little olive oil. Hugh had bequeathed quite a store of it to Louisa and everyone on the island was steadily trading their way through it. Well, _that_ and it was logistically impossible to ship it anywhere with the seas clogged with German submarines. You’d be crazy to try with a cargo ship sunk every couple of days.

Thunder followed Sven to the front door then whined bitterly as his master closed it, leaving him behind.

The world presented itself as beautifully serene while Sven meandered along the gravel track, heading into the hills. In places it was a steep climb and the higher he went, the better his view of the sky. The storm had well and truly broken. Off to his right, dark clouds rumbled and flickered far out at sea. There were still a few drops of rain falling but they came from passing clumps of storm and soon even those died away leaving nothing but a radiant stretch of blue over the island. With the sun came a surge of heat. _Corfu_ thrummed. It started with the sea birds, shrieking as they emerged from their cliff-side hovels. They took to the air as white curtains, banking and playing around the roughened waves. Then, as the sun burned off the top layer of rain, the insects crawled followed, scrambling from their lairs and whipped themselves into a frenzy of percussive song – tapping wings, rubbing legs, vibrating diaphragms and all manner of cosmic hell.

Sven picked winged ants from his rolled up sleeve as he cut through a surprise cloud of them. More were left crawling over the basket, seeping into the layers of wicker before launching themselves back into the fray. The sun even managed to feel hot on his back, reddening his cheeks until Sven reached the first bank of wild olives with the roots deep in the white, chalk hills. The storm had shredded many of their leaves only for the heavy rain to wash deep veins in the dirt, exposing their silver roots. Bits of pottery from centuries past tumbled in the gaps. They smashed to bits as they found outcrops of rock which themselves had broken off.

Hugh’s grove blended into the wild surrounds and soon Sven fell under the protection of its ancient trees, bowing and shivering in the light wind. Despite the sun, there was still a bite of cold to the air – one which he felt more keenly in the shadows. Sven paused where the grove butted up to the edge of the cliff. He stepped off the road and wandered into the wild grass and scrap of discarded branches. Beyond, the sea laid itself out like some great, restless creature. With nothing else of Viggo, Sven was left to find his lover in the world’s expanses. A strip of water. A curve of sunlight. These were _Viggo_ now.

A sharp cry cut the air.

Sven startled, turning to the grove. A woman’s scream echoed through the hill side. He could hear it bounce from cliff to cliff, dying a little on the chalk faces. For a moment he wondered if he’d imagined the sound. Ghosts, perhaps, trapped in the hills crying in chase of the storm. Sirens, even – beckoning with shrill calls instead of a lustful embrace.

Then it happened again. Another screech hit the air but this time it had a frightening clarity. It originated from the direction of the house. Sven’s blood turned cold. _Louisa_.

*~*~*

Spiros grimaced as his car pulled into _Corfu’s_ main street. Out on the county roads, it was easy to ignore the beautiful creature’s tragic state but when it shuffled up next to pristine vehicles, its damage seemed all the more severe.

That said, its disarray was nothing compared to the down. Several of the large trees in the park had been uprooted by the storm and now lay on their side with all their dripping nethers revealed like rivers of lightning.

“Hey – hey – hey!” Spiros leapt out of the car in chase of his ungrateful passengers, as the Greek soldiers attempted to flee. “What about my windscreen! You promises!”

Then he spent a good twenty minutes shouting at them until, under the burden of Spiros’ fury, they finally agreed to take him into the fort where the senior officers had set up their command.

Spiros felt the shadow of the fort fall over him as they approached its crumbling walls. Immense, they stretched above despite their crumbling edges. They weather-beaten surface had been adorned with fresh wires which draped, up and down, from hooks hammered in the mortar between the stones. Telegraph lines and electricity coming from the diesel generators, Spiros guessed. Their noise easily drowned out the traffic while a trail of smoke gave away their position.

All of a sudden, Spiros felt quite wrong-footed. There were soldiers everywhere, most of low rank with bare fabric where patches would normally be sewn. Their manners were appalling. They slouched against the fort’s wall, forgot to salute higher ranks and spent all their time chain smoking instead of watching their posts. _Conscripts_. They contrasted with the steady trail of freshly wounded disembarking from re-purposed civilian ferries. There were dozens of them sitting on the wet ground, waiting for the hospital van.

The village itself gleamed, washed clean by the storm. It was as though the gods themselves had swept away the filth. All it did was make the stain of war darker. If Spiros squinted, he could almost see the First War twinkling through the glare, threatening to raise its vengeful spirit. The gods of Death, it seemed, had unfinished business with the living.

“This way, Mr Halikiopoulos.” A Captain with three silver stars on his shoulder emerged from the din of the ancient fort. He beckoned Spiros under the archway. The man’s eyes were oddly wide and black, used to living in the darkness.

It was cold and damp inside the fort. The stone walls pressed close on either side of the tunnel – rough-cut and littered with scars from wars past. All of _Corfu_ had a scent of ‘age’ about it but as Spiros followed the Captain deeper into the cavernous network, he was overwhelmed by the voices of the past. He could almost imagine the faces of the people that lugged the stones from the quarry in the centre of the island. They had dark, brown eyes like him and broad shoulders, toiling away to the endless _‘clink-clink-clink’_ of chisels. How many thousands of years had passed with this monolith on the land? _More than he could count_.

The wires tacked onto the outside of the fort continued in the tunnels, trailing along beside him at head height. Every now and then they diverted into ante-rooms, beyond which Spiros thought he could hear Morse Code.

“Wait in here.” The Captain insisted, as he opened an old cell door with a fearsome screech of un-greased iron.

Spiros hesitated. The room was clearly decrepit. Once upon a time it had a lock and bars but they’d rotted off. Significant cracks veered diagonally across the outer wall, caused by either an earthquake or previous bombing. It was difficult to tell with so many layers of upheaval. Eventually he sucked in a breath and entered the cell. He wondered absently if this was how some of Master Gerry’s animals felt – pacing in and out of open cages.

There wasn’t anywhere to sit so Spiros took himself over to the structurally sound side of the cell and leaned against the stone. It was cold on his back – catching only a fraction of sunlight from the slit in the opposing wall. Humans were like ants, Spiros reasoned, burying themselves under the ground in giant hives. There were whole cities in old world burrowed out of the earth. Entire civilisations that lived in the darkness… He hated it. Spiros craved the sunlight like one of Gerry’s strange spotted lizards.

“What is this?” Spiros demanded, frowning at a slip of paper which the Captain thrust into his hand upon his return. “I was expecting moneys or – or large piece of glass.” This pitiful piece of paper didn’t seem right at all.

If the Captain had been in a better mood, he might have smiled. As it was, no one had slept since the storm started. He had half a dozen ships missing out in the water and troops desperately trying to leave _Albania_. Telegrams and letters piled high, mostly unread while all the senior officers snapped at their subordinates if only to voice their frustration at the world. “It is a voucher for your windscreen. Take this-” he tapped the paper in Spiros’ hand, “-to the garage next to the fort. They will know what to do with it. The banks aren’t giving money to anyone – not even us so we make our own money, eh?” At least in this, he seemed quite pleased, nodding once again at the voucher. “I am a soldier short.”

“Yeses. He did not fit.” Spiros explained. “We left him at the house. I can pick him up later if you like.”

The Captain nodded his thanks. “Once you have your windscreen, you might find a spot of work taking a load of arrivals from the dock. The money is not great but the help is certainly welcome.”

Spiros thanked him for the tip and left the depths of the fort as quickly as he could. Frankly, it was more than he’d expected. His blackmail schemes rarely worked out with a profit. Maybe they’d made a few friends that day, alerting them to the Italians or perhaps the law of averages finally paid off a winning.

*~*~*

Sven had no trouble finding Louisa. The screams were coming from the garage tucked on to the side of house. One of the large, wooden doors hung open, groaning as it rocked back and forth in the wind. A barrage of leaves grazed against the hard wood planks like sheets of dry rain. Sven barely noticed as he pulled it so fast it nearly came off its seventeenth century hinges.

“Louisa!” Sven plonked his heavy basket of presents down and searched the garage in a frantic fit. Daylight struggled to reach the depths of the shed while the little that did fell in stark lines that died immediately upon touching a stray vat of oil or piece of machinery. It was a nightmare maze that Sven stumbled through. “Louisa!” He shouted again, blinking at the darkness.

“Sven!!!”

“Oh _my_...” Sven skidded to a stop after rounding a few discarded bales. The back wall of the garage was stacked to the roof with square parcels of hay, much of which had broken free of its ties and shed all over the floor, slowly building into a golden wall. Dark green broken glass lay on the ground among the deluge, accompanied by a glistening pool of olive oil. Louisa half-sat, half-laid across one of the bales, panting furiously. Her hair was drowned in sweat, much of which continued to drip from her brow. Her pale skin flushed scarlet, leaving her clear eyes and alarming shade of blue. Louisa was very clearly in the middle of labour.

“Don’t – just – stand there – you – you _git_!”

“Ah – ah – yes.” Sven agreed with her sentiment but had absolutely no idea how to proceed. He stood dumbly in front of her – eyes five miles wide and jaw practically in the dirt.

“CHRIST Sven – you’ve – you’ve done this before.”

“Many times. With _goats_.” He finally moved over to her and knelt down on the ground. Sven could feel the heat coming off her skin. It was as though someone had set her on fire. “This is early.”

“WELL NOTICED.” Another wave of pain hit Louisa. She remembered it all too well. The fifth child certainly wasn’t any easier although things did seem to be progressing alarmingly _fast_. Honestly, she’d meant to move out of the shed but every time she tried to stand up, the contractions hit. “I don’t – suppose – you came by – car? Because I could really – use a – lift to Doctor Petri-ahhh...” Louisa trailed off, clasping wildly at the hay. It crunched in her grip.

“Unfortunately no. I walked here. Spiros took the car to town with so-”

“TOWN? He’ll be gone for hours! Bastard – no good Greek – son of-”

Sven kept _very_ quiet and offered no protest to Louisa’s vice-like grip of his wrist, which he was quite sure she was on the verge of snapping. She continued to ramble off quite a litany of colourful descriptions regarding Spiros which Sven would never repeat. “How long have you been like this?”

“I don’t know. What time is it now?”

“After two.”

“Nearly an hour.” Louisa had to pause. Sometimes she managed to breathe through it. She knew very well what was about to happen and she’d been fighting the reality. There was no running away from it. “Sven. I think – I think you’re going to have to...”

Sven started shaking his head in the relative darkness. “Oh no. No – I cannot. I do not know how to. It is impossible.”

“If my Leslie can do it then you bloody well can too.”

That fell as a blow to Sven’s ego. He raised his free hand to her face, brushing a segment of hair from her eyes. “You have had four children. It should be easy – no? Ow… You hit me.”

“Bloody oath, I hit you!”

They managed to share a smile. Sven realised that there wasn’t really a way out of this. Nature was nature and one way or another, Louisa was having this child tonight.

“I wish Spiros was here...” Louisa added, barely a breath. It was swallowed by the rustle of wind against the open door along with a fresh tide of olive leaves spilling inside.

“I wish Spiros was here too,” Sven replied, entirely honestly. “Though I am glad he did not hear what you said before. My goats never say such filth.”

To which Louisa laughed until her tears dried. “If only I could be mad with him,” she amended, “but I insisted that he check on you in the first place.”

“That was kind of you.”

“So it is _my_ fault, you see.”

“In cases such as these, I ‘see’ only what I am told to.” Sven assured Louisa. That was definitely the safest course of action with the bones in his wrist crushing under her grip. He had no idea that she was so strong but then, what strength had she shown since her first moments in _Corfu_? Louisa was a beacon of strength, if not always of the physical sort.

“And – and your house – is it, well – is it still on the hill?”

“It is.” He assured her. “A few stones short, perhaps. Nothing a small earthquake will not fix. We are due for one, I believe. Any day now. The apocalypses compound, or so Theo says. He could be exaggerating. I find he does that often when taking liberties with the rum – or even without it. He is – ah – a _man of liberties_.”

“Brace yourself, Sven.” Louisa had only half listened. “There’ll be a lot more indecency before we’re done here. Now – you can start by getting some bloody light in. I feel like I’m giving birth in a dungeon. Whatever next? Shall we be set upon by vampires?”

Sven could only hope. It might be less a less painful death than allowing Louisa to crush each of his bones, one at a time.

*~*~*

Larry watched _Corfu_ emerge from the waves, valiant, like some great conqueror or mythos read from a marble wall. The island was surrounded by an orchestra of ships, some of which towered above their humble ferry and others that trundled along in the mess of surf, captained by fishermen. There were all sorts out after the storm. It never failed to strike Larry how unnameable humanity was to interruption. As a species they were determined to continue in their habits until even the sky cracked apart in rage and failure.

Standing at the rail, he tilted his head backwards to take in the wall of grey steel sheeting which formed the towering hull of the nearby warship. It grazed awfully close. Should he wish, Larry could stretch out and graze his fingertips across the metal. A moment later, the ferry was hit by its wash, tossing their vessel wildly from side to side even though the warship was crawling carefully through the water. Larry took in every detail. The smoke sinking to the water, the sound of enormous propellers beating the sea, sailors calling to each other with whistles like a flock of common gulls and the Greek flags flapping sharply in the stiff breeze. The fabric made a sharp _‘snap’_ , almost like solitary applause. Salt tried to rust its way through every rivet but this ship was freshly painted, cutting its way toward open water with an air of defiance. Larry wished it well.

“Is it too late to take up your dreadful friend’s offer and stay in London?” Asked Nancy, cradling a wiggling bundle of blankets in her arms. She perched on one of the chairs mounted to the deck, thankful for the fresh air after weeks spent in a hospital ward trying desperately not to catch plague. Their little girl was fighting fit – small but certainly strong enough to cry and fuss her way through the day. Her features were regrettably all Larry’s but Nancy had seen a twinkle or two of herself in their child’s eyes. Now, after what seemed like an eternity, they were finally on their way home as a family. Nancy only wished it didn’t have to be with an escort of military ships and the wreak of fuel.

Larry spun around, resting against the rail in his usual, casual manner. It had not struck him that he was a parent yet. Perhaps it never would. His child was a curiosity rather than reality. “Don’t worry, dear. We are not going to be here for very long. Remember what I said before – Theo has found me a position in the military. By the end of the month we’ll be on a ship to Crete with him. Can’t say I won’t be sad to see the back of this place but at least we’ll be safer there.”

“Crete?” Nancy complained. “I don’t want to spend my life traipsing from island to island… Why can’t we go to Paris – stay with that writer associate of yours. The one I’m not too fond of. Understands very little of attire or customary politeness...” She fished for his name.

“There are two problems with your request, my darling. Firstly, if you’re referring to Henry Miller there is no way I am enduring another night in his company if you are in tow. He spends a full ninety percent of his time without pants of any sort. The man is a genius but one can only avert their gaze for so long before it becomes exhausting. Believe me I have _tried_ to mend his ways but the man is quite impervious to improvement.”

“Shame...”

“Secondly, Paris is rather awkwardly hidden behind piles of sandbags with a load of Nazis occupying the theatres.”

“I forgot...” Nancy admitted. The war was moving so fast that she could scarce keep track of the atrocities. They risked becoming a blur. The dreadful truth was that there was only so much desperation that you could absorb before the brain shut the misery off entirely. There were entire days strung together in which Nancy quite forgot that they were at war. “Being down here, the troubles of Europe seem so far away – until you see these things.” She pointed at the warship. “That is, I confess, difficult to miss.”

“A brush with the tangible...”

Larry had not shared the wealth of information his literary friends smuggled out of _France_. Much of it was contraband but even if it wasn’t, he knew enough about expectant mothers to keep terror out of sight. That is why he did not tell Nancy the story of the French laying down their arms, deserting the streets of the capital and allowing the German army to wander into the heart of Bohemia, unopposed. Nor did he tell her about the peace treaty France signed between Germany and Russia in the months prior – the worthless document that other sovereign nations had been lured into a dangerous lull with. He made no mention of _Paris_ snuffing its lights to hide itself from German air raids or the immense collections of artwork in the _Louvre_ being boxed up and spirited away to the Southern countryside while the citizens of _Paris_ were left to walk to safety on foot. No. He kept their frantic letters in a box in his room. Before he left for _Crete_ he swore to burn them.

“It is all well and good to forget Europe’s plights but I doubt the continent will allow us to escape them entirely.” Larry looked beyond the ships to _Corfu_ itself. In _Athens_ he had heard some rather disturbing rumours about the attack that never was – the Italian raid thwarted by a spot of bad weather. Now that he could see the rush of activity around the old fort, he was inclined to believe the rumour. It was as though someone had lit a match under the Greek military and now they were going hell to leather, stockpiling their most defensible base on the island. It was a practical swarm of soldiers. The opening bars of Summer in India, as his late father would say.

Larry was a long way from cowardice but at the same time he wasn’t keen on standing at hell’s gates waiting for the devil’s army. He was hardly a priest and soldiering had always suited Leslie better. _Crete_ gave Larry a measure of space. A buffer. He only wished there was a way to convince his mother to flee with them but he knew it was a pointless endeavour. Spiros wasn’t going anywhere without his children and she wasn’t going anywhere without Spiros.

It was still a complete, sodding mystery how those two had succeeded in duping common decency. If he had not seen it with his own eyes, he’d never have believed his mother capable of such – such – _temerity_.

*~*~*

Spiros nearly fell over backwards when he caught sight of Larry and Nancy strolling through the tide of soldiers on the main street. He’d spotted Larry first. Louisa’s eldest son was tall, pale and had a certain slouch about him common to intellectuals but entirely foreign in _Corfu_ where most folk kept their hats down and got on with business.

He rolled his taxi slowly up alongside the couple. Spiros turned in his seat, draping one arm casually along the door in his usual, cheery manner. His new windscreen would have glittered if not for all the greasy fingermarks left by the engineers.

“Mr Larry Durrells!” Spiros boomed, smile a thousand miles wide.

Larry and Nancy startled as a single unit but then were flooded with relief as they saw Spiros beaming back at them. They stopped and so did the taxi.

“Need a lift? See – I have fixed my car!” He was so proud of it too – leaning forward to tap the brand new windscreen gently. “Is that the sixth Durrells? Please – get in – I takes you back to Theo’s big white house – yes? It is still there, I thinks, despite the weather.”

Larry, who was carrying a suitcase, wasn’t about to argue with that offer. He swung the case into the back and opened the door for Nancy. “I was worried we were going to have to walk all the way. What happened to all the taxi drivers, Spiros?”

“They work for the military now, Mr Larry.”

“Not you?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, “but Spiros will always drive a Durrell first. A Durrell before the king if he musts.”

“Gosh, what a mess this place is in.” Larry added. “It wasn’t anything like this bad in Athens. A spot of rain and a touch of wind. Nothing to write home about and you know, coming from me, that means it was pretty lousy because I’ll write home about anything these days.”

*~*~*

The _White House_ lounged in the last moments of the afternoon. Its plastered faces had taken on a blush, mimicking the pale pink weaving its way through the scattered clouds above.

Theo and Mary, believing themselves alone, had a record echoing against the mountains and coloured lights strung around the trees. They danced on the jetty, talking of nothing and only stopped at the crunch of gravel.

“I bring gifts!” Spiros spread his arms joyously, then hopped out of the car and retrieved Larry’s suitcase. He stepped to one side, dramatically revealing Larry, Nancy and the newborn.

Theo immediately went to bits, thieving the child from Nancy so that he could coo at it relentlessly. Mary rolled her eyes, congratulated Nancy then enticed her inside for some much needed tea. Larry followed, though his interests lay in checking on his beloved typewriter. He’d had nightmares of dust and cobwebs collecting on its keys.

Spiros and Theo were left in charge of the bewildered child, whose crying had halted to make way for curiosity.

“Your house survived the storm.”

Theo nodded. “Oh yes, after a fashion. Had to do a bit of patching but you know how it is. There’s nothing a few extra nails won’t fix. I am surprised at you, Spiros. You promised us all a wedding – if you do not make an honest woman of Louisa, I am afraid I shall have to kill you. Honour demands it.”

Spiros shook his head. “The courts are _useless_ sons of bitches.” He complained, kicking a pine cone off the jetty. “Months they have had the paperwork and still no reply. I write to them and still, nothing. Soon I thinks I shall pay them a visit.”

“In war, everything is slow,” Theo agreed. “Even my supplies for the surgery are sitting on a dock somewhere, waiting to board a ship. I write and write and write – I may as well throw the letters in the fireplace for all the good they do. I have been considering training a few pigeons to carry them.” Theo narrowed his eyes at a fine red line on Spiros’ neck. “Damn thing left a scar, I see. I warned you, I’m no good with humans. You should have let me take you into town.”

Spiros rubbed his neck self consciously. “A scratch.”

Which only served to send Theo into another rush of laughter. There were times when Spiros caricatured himself without realising it. A natural result, perhaps, of performing to his carousel of customers. Theo wondered how much of Spiros was an illusion and whether or not Louisa saw through the bravado, humour and overbearing levity.

“A drink, before you leave?” Theo asked, as the tiny Durrell in his arms drifted off.

Spiros eyed the sunset. “One. Then I musts go.”

“Come on. We better find out what this little one’s name is. If you return to Louisa without detailed notes about her granddaughter she’ll only send you straight back over and by that stage Larry will have drunk all the wine.”

*~*~*

The sun set as Spiros returned to the grove. For the first time in weeks, the stars twinkled overhead – slicing across the sky in a ribbon of smudged light. Every now and then he heard the drone of a reconnaissance plane rise over his engine but they were flying too high for him to pick out from the darkness.

“Mister Svens – what is it that you are doing in the dirt?” Spiros asked, quite perplexed to find Sven laying spread eagled on the driveway outside the garage. He looked as though he’d been there for some time, given the collection of leaves on his chest and his clothes being slightly damp around the edges. The door was open with soft, lamplight pouring out into the evening.

Sven slowly opened his eyes. He smelled of stale sweat and panic. Both his sleeves rolled to his elbows, scratches up his forearms and bits of straw stuck to his forehead. He was utterly deflated but at the same time existing in a state of serenity – like the survivor of a great storm washed up on the shore.

“Help me up,” Sven requested, reaching out to Spiros. Spiros obliged, hauling the other man off the dirt. It poured off Sven’s clothes as he dusted himself down. “Spiros...” Sven found his wits. He gripped the other man’s hand firmly, refusing to let him go. “Come with me,” he added, unusually softly. “Quietly now.”

Spiros only had a few steps to let his worry brew before he intruded upon the lamplight. There were several oil lamps burning brightly, placed on various random surfaces. The laundry basket along with an armchair had been dragged in as well and set directly on the dirt. Finally, as Spiros moved around the side of a tractor, he saw what had set Sven in such a state. Spiros dragged his hat off his head and wrung it between his hands. There, sitting in the hay, encircled by lanterns, was Louisa.

“There, you see?” Sven whispered, finally releasing Spiros. “All is well.” Sven backed away out of the barn, making himself scarce as Spiros crept towards the woman and her newborn child.

“And where have you been?” Louisa smiled gently, as Spiros approached. He seemed a bit stunned by the scene in front of him. “Come on, I’ve someone I’d like you to meet.”

Spiros couldn’t find a single word to say – certainly not in English – as he lowered himself onto the sharp surface of the hay beside Louisa. He wasn’t sure what to be enraptured with – Louisa or the tiny, olive child swaddled in the mismatched blankets Sven had grabbed in haste.

Louisa delicately used her fingers to fold back the blanket, revealing her round face and dark eyes. “Definitely a Halikiopoulos, wouldn’t you say?”

“ _A man has never loved a woman more than I love you in this moment.”_

H is words had whispered out in Greek, leaving Louisa none the wiser.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this took so long, everyone. My life is just such a mess.

“Why do you stare at the straw, Louisa?” Spiros asked, a touch of concern in his usually cheery tone. For the last little while Louisa’s narrowed eyes had set rather severely on the scene laid out before them. A frown formed a furrow across her brow, crossing her features. It was an expression of distaste usually reserved for his indiscretions. “I know these eyes.” He shuffled closer, dislodging loose hay onto the floor.

He remained a comfortingly large creature – full of warmth and security that smelled faintly of dust. Louisa felt him pressing at the edges of her mind as well as her arm.

“You use them on me when I leave the kitchen door open – or wake the chickens with the car in the morning – or training Magenpies – or...” Spiros continued rambling off a trail of offences for which he was invariably guilty.

Many of them brought a curl of amusement to Louisa’s lips although none were enough to break her train of thought. The altered reality of childbirth, previously draped over her like a veil, had worn off. The contrast was _stark._ She would not go so far as to say that her life up until this point had bordered on the ‘normal’ but there were certainly elements of _ordinary_ lurking at the edges of common sense. When her relatives took the risk to visit they were able to recognise fragments of her old life in the _Corfu_ villa, particularly the gin bottles, but now?

Louisa shook her head wordlessly. Now _she_ didn’t recognise her life.

This particular scenario had strayed even further into absurdity. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline gifting her the clarity. Or maybe she was the world’s least observant person and this was the final literal straw on her metaphorical camel…

Either way, she found herself alarmed by certain _details_...

“You don’t,” Louisa started, stumbling through her words, “don’t think that this is all a little – a little...” She trailed off as her gaze found Spiros’ dark and indulgent eyes. They were the constant in her world, dragging her into abysses when she was trying to focus.

“Spiros.”

“Yeses.” He replied, patiently.

“It is an immutable _fact_ that I am seated on a bale of hay, doused in lamplight. You’re holding our distinctly out-of-wedlock child. There’s an assortment of farm animals at the edge of the barn, pawing at the wooden slats begging to be let in while _that_ is a basket of gifts bestowed on us by an impoverished foreign king. Well – a _foreigner_ , at least.” She was forced to amend. “Not that Sven would refuse a crown if it were on offer.”

“I do not understand...”

“Well _frankly,_ ” Louisa continued, “it’s all a bit ‘Mary Magdalene’ for my taste. Honestly I’m surprised there isn’t a comet overhead and a Roman army on their way. You know, thunder in the distance and mysterious choir music from on high.”

“Probably there is an Italian army on the way.”

“That _is not_ helpful, Spiros...” She scorned.

“Am I God in this scene of yours?”

“No. Spiros. God? Why would you be God? Oh… Now you’re teasing… A brave choice. I should be furious with you, I hope you realise. You missed the birth of your child!”

“I was in town, sorting out a new windscreen.”

“Properly angry.” Louisa insisted. “Spiros, what is more important – your car or your, what did you call me? _Mistress_.”

“Taxi – of courses.” His grin was irrepressible. It smothered his entire face, refusing to be diminished by anything – including the present shambles of their environment. Her six hour old daughter mirrored it perfectly. She had Spiros’ finger in a vice. Louisa had never seen him look happier. It was no wonder that he’d considered leaving her for the sake of his children. They really were his whole world and now he had three. Actually, between them they had _seven._

Seven.

That piece of information was still sinking in when Spiros spoke.

“This is the second new Durrells that I have met today.”

“Seco-Larry is back?!” Louisa squeaked, translating his vague reply. “Why didn’t you say! I have to see them straight away-” she rambled. As she tried to stand up, her body immediately protested with a shriek of pain that cut right to her pelvis while Spiros’ free hand reached out and caught her by the arm, holding her back. “Oh all right… You can let go.” Louisa relented. “We’ll wait until tomorrow but you still should have told me. I haven’t seen my granddaughter and it’s high time I did.” She was shaking her head. “I don’t trust that boy to raise a living creature. Did I ever tell you what happened when Gerry gave him a pet? He’s just not suited to the Darwinian way of life.”

“I was distracted...” Spiros protested, nodding down at his tiny, unnamed daughter snoring in his arms. “It was chaos down at the harbour. People are quite mad. Never has there been such a mess. Then there are so many new Durrells. I lose track, I think.”

“We are the mad ones, starting a family so late in life. _Reckless_ – is the word my late Aunt might have used. If only she’d lived long enough to voice her disapproval.” Louisa missed the watchful, occasionally overbearing supervision of a proper adult. “Goodness knows how many children Leslie has by now. I dread to think of him up there in Bournemouth air base without supervision. All those girls. I fear I was not strict enough when I raised him. I should have been paying more attention to his proclivities but that’s the trouble when you have too many children – all their demons blur into a sort of nightmare Pandora’s Box that you don’t want to open in case it bursts into an apocalypse.” Was that an overreaction? Oh probably...

“Not true. There is no need to worry. Mister Leslie is the most sensible of your children.”

Louisa – just – started – at – him. He’d delivered the line with such flat sincerity that he must have meant it.

“What?”

“Oh god...” The side of Louisa’s face scrunched up in painful realisation. “I think you might be right. In the last two decades I’ve raised a lecherous novelist, an absent-minded flirt, a girl-crazed gun enthusiast and a caveman that prefers to sleep outside in the dirt rather than the perfectly good dirt-stained bed in the house.” She shook her head, wondering what this next little bundle of Durrell was going to turn into. “I’m holding out hope that this arrival will be bestowed with all the sense that the others missed out on. Please just – promise you won’t name her after a troubled goddess or an ill-fated temple.”

“I am naming her?”

“Yes. If you would like to, that is.”

Spiros softened. _Yes_ , he would like to name their child. The only thing he’d been allowed to name in his entire life was the taxi. “What is that noise?” He asked, hearing something sizeable snore in the shadow of the barn.

“That will be Sven… He’s in here somewhere. Childbirth really took it out of him. Poor thing. I think I turned him off women for life.”

Sven was sound asleep inside the tractor, slumped over the wheel and gear levers where he incorrectly believed he’d be safe from the mice that were gnawing at his sleeve. They were busy tugging a large hole in the material that matched the many rips he’d already put in the shirt from close encounters with dangerous farm machinery.

Many hours later, as the lanterns chewed up their last drops of oil and started to smoke, Louisa asked if they could relocate to the house. Spiros took the child inside first, settling in the crib Lugaretzia had loaned them. She took a moment to enjoy the peace – finally able to breathe. A pair of owls hooted to each other outside. It was a soft, unusual song that reminded her of Theo’s story. Spiros eventually returned, scooped her up off the bale and carried her inside.

The evening was as lovely as the day. While she bathed, Spiros opened the windows to let the soft breeze dry out the house. There was so much water in the world that it continued to drip from the olive trees with a soft _patter_. Eventually she found herself laying in bed, head turned to the side, watching the moon vanish and reappear behind ribbons of thin cloud.

Spiros snuck back into the barn with two glasses and a bottle of Hugh’s scotch. He wasn’t normally one for drinking heavy liquor but he had a sneaking suspicion that it would do Sven a world of good. Spiros climbed up into the tractor and nudged the man awake. Sven stirred at the sound of liquid tinkering into the glass.

“Good man...” Sven took the glass and cheers-ed it with – _the tractor’s steering wheel_ – for some reason. Spiros didn’t ask.

They both drank their first round in silence before starting on a second. As they drew to the end of their glasses, Spiros said, “Thank you, Mister Svens. If you were not here, I do not knows what would have happened.”

“Louisa did all the work,” Sven assured him, holding the barrel of the glass against his forehead. “I only did as I was told. That is best. Yes? I am not so good with women but I hear that is the way things are done.”

“Very wise...” Spiros agreed. “When my wife had our two children, she cursed my name so loudly they had to close the doors to our hospital ward. What?”

Sven shook his head, choosing not to tell Spiros that Louisa had taken his name in vane plenty of times. “I’ll be all right on the bales tonight. Go on. You should get back to Louisa. My head it needs – well, needs more of _this_.” Sven held up the glass.

Something told Spiros that Sven’s desolate mood wasn’t entirely due to his crash course in child delivery. He’d barely said a word about Viggo since the funeral. “What about your poor house?” Spiros asked carefully.

“I left it in capable hands. At least, I hope I did. Worst case scenario, the goats have eaten the soldier and Thunder is polishing off what’s left. If that happens, I expect help hiding the body.”

“Of courses.” Spiros replied firmly, with enough gravity to make Sven wonder if he might actually be serious.

“Then I bid you a good night, Svens.” Spiros rolled his glass thoughtfully around in his hand.

Spiros returned to the bedroom. Louisa was asleep, breathing softly with one arm outstretched over the edge of the bed – reaching for something, or nothing… The thought was lost. The room drowned in moonlight and everything in it appeared as marble – soft and formed from muted greys. Even Louisa, before she was disturbed by his presence, could have been a slumbering relic from the depths of the Ionian Sea.

“I think, perhaps, I should take you to see Doctor Petridis. I am very worried.”

“Can’t we go tomorrow?” Louisa sighed sleepily, laying her head back on the pillow. “I don’t think I could move if I wanted to. All I wish to do right now is drift off. Fussing is not as endearing as men think it is. Spiros? Spiros…. Are you even listening to me?”

No. Spiros was too busy cooing over the infant to even notice Louisa roll her eyes severely and shake her head endearingly.

“She needs to sleep too. _Spiros!_ ”

*~*~*

“But – how did this _happen_?” Doctor  Petridis exclaimed, when Louisa and Spiros appeared on his doorstep, child in hand. His astonishment wedged his jaw open so wide he looked like a circus clown.

“I rather thought that was more your department, Doctor.” Louisa teased him. “Please, if you could pick your jaw off the doorstep I’d rather fancy sitting down.”

“Oh _yes_. Sorry. Come in! My wife is not at home but I think you’ll be pleased at my present patient.”

“Larry!” Louisa pushed past the other two men and rushed into her son’s arms. “I was so worried about you.”

“All right mother.” Larry fought against her vice-like grip. “I was only across the bay. Athens isn’t on the other side of the world or anything. Seriously, you can let go now or you’ll leave one of your claws in my shirt.” He untangled her. “Is that my baby sister?”

Spiros tilted the infant so that Larry could see over the swaddling.

“Hardly fair, she’s been in the world five minutes and she’s already the best looking of us.” Larry edged close enough for the baby to lift a curious hand in his direction. “I’ve got one of these too. Come on, I’ll show you.”

After all the fuss had died down, Doctor Petridis finally stole Louisa and the baby away for a routine checkup leaving Spiros  loitering in the drawing room when Florence barrelled in.

“Spiros!” She exclaimed, divesting herself of her coat, scarf and hat. “Are you all right? You weren’t part of that brawl down by the port I hope. What a nightmare! Those bloody thugs nearly knocked me off the promenade. Completely ruined all my letters. _In the sea!_ I should hang the bloody lot of them.”

“No. I was not at work today,” he assured her, elaborating about his early arrival. Then he wandered over to the wall full of Doctor Petridis’ anatomical paintings. A casual observer might find such a collection crass or even ungodly but Spiros thought they embodied their own sort of honesty – if not beauty. They were like Theo’s specimen jars.

“My husband is very proud of them, you know.” Said Florence, sidling up to Spiros. She could not help but notice the dark, sun-hardened colour of his skin. “They are not the originals but as far as prints go, I think they are very fine.”

Spiros was ever so slightly alarmed by their content but his equal fascination left him tilted toward them for some time until he diverted slightly and noticed an army uniform hanging on a rack. “Ah, Doctor Petridis, he is in the army now? I was wondering if he would join.”

Florence brushed her fingers down the jacket’s sleeve. “Not exactly. The army has asked that he enrol here, on Corfu. He is to be stationed on the island as their chief medical officer. I must say that I am relieved. The thought of him heading off into some ransacked country, on his own, I am not sure that I could stand it. There’s a lot more work, you see but they don’t pay particularly well – if at all. And you, Spiros, are you to serve as well?”

“Like the Doctor, the military require drivers on the island. For the moment, they wishes me to remain driving for them. If they told me to leave, I am not sures that I would. That is – ah – bad thing to say.”

“Honest, though...” Florence couldn’t fault him for that. “Theo asked Mary to come with him but she refused, did you hear?”

Spiros shook his head.

“It was quite an event. Then you probably have also not heard that Larry is taking Nancy and the child to Crete. Poor love. He’s afraid to tell Louisa. I am sure that she would not approve. I cannot blame her for that but I wager Corfu is no safer. My apologies...” Florence dipped her head slightly. “Here you are, parading around your new child and all I can talk of are these sad things.”

Spiros stepped away from the uniform, distancing himself from it. “How is your child?”

“Sleeping. Thank god. I thought I’d never have peace again. For a while I thought your gods were punishing me for wishing too fondly for a child. Losing Margo was a nightmare. She has a gift with children. One, I hear, she is putting to good use in England. So many lost children… I try not to think about them. My husband writes to one of the doctors stationed in English country. He said something quite wise in his letters – that you do not know what you are capable of until you are called to act.”

“Your husband’s friend is very wise.”

“Yes well… I am starting to wish I could do more. I’ve been living abroad for many years, Spiros and for the first time I find myself quite homesick. _Christ_ , all those letters...” Florence could still see them in her mind, sinking below the slick-stained waters.

* ~*~*

Lu garetzia  prodded the snoring body with the end of her broom. It made an unhappy noise, turning onto its back with an uneven cough. “Is you dead?” She asked, not really fussed either way.

Sven opened his eyes to see a terrifying Shakespearean  witch leaning over him, brandishing a broom. “ Lu garetzia...”

“Why you sleep on barn floor? Not civilised. My son in law, he says that you let the goats live in your house. I think he right.” Then she muttered some form of religious protection, frightened that some of his heathenism might wear off on her.

“What day is it? Oh – _crap_! I lost track of time.” Sven sat up, nudging the end of  Lugaretzia’s broom away from his face. She still seemed to be considering hitting him with it as if he were some kind of rodent to be evicted from the barn. “It was Louisa. She has had the child. Last night. I was minding the house. Oh _hell_!” The second revelation fell harder. “I’ve left a soldier in my house!”

They spent the next few minutes muttering at each other – Sven in Swedish and  Lu garetzia  in Greek, neither of them understanding a single thing that was said. Eventually Sven managed to escape and half-ran down the track. He was woefully concerned about the soldier. The goats – well, they’d be fine but he didn’t trust Thunder as a guardian.

Several hours later he entered the valley and saw his house still intact with a  healthy  trickle of smoke leaking out of the chimney.  He stared at the door for several minutes, listening to see if he could hear any sounds of the goats tearing his house guest apart but all was perfectly quiet.

“Kalimera...” said Sven, cautiously inching into the house. He was surprised not to be immediately ambushed by animals. Actually, aside from a distinct layer of smoke sitting in the room like mist, everything was remarkably _calm_. “Hello… are there any survivors?”

S ven’s eye was drawn to the kitchen bench where a line of bread rolls sat on a cooling rack he quite frankly didn’t know he owned. He stared at them dumbly until a snore erupted from the living room. Sven moved through the house. Reaching the doorway, he paused – eyebrow raised. The random soldier he’d left in charge of his house lay sprawled across his couch, sound asleep with Thunder on his chest. The puppy lifted his head, taking note of Sven’s presence before shuffling back down against the other man as if  _he_ were the preferred owner.

_Traitor…_ Sven thought, with amusement. That dog’s affection could be bought with one good meal and a scratch behind the ears.

Those weren’t bad terms, Sven had to admit, but he figured it would probably be a good idea to return the soldier to his superior officers before he was accused of kidnapping. Sven leaned down and shook the officer gently. He startled, muttering several untranslatable things in Greek before he regained his senses and remembered where he was. Thunder licked the man’s hands then tucked his nose back down for warmth.

“Uh – sorry about – well – the whole, ‘abandoning you’ thing...” Sven opened, spreading his lips in what he hoped was a cheery smile and not a manic display. He was well aware that he was covered in dirt, hay and olive leaves.

“I make bread,” the man replied, sitting up. “Your house, it has no food.”

“Usually I just go and milk the goa- _no_ , you’re perfectly right.” He was forced to accept. “The dog eats better than me lately. There’s, ah, someone from the base coming by soon to rescue you. They’re not too pleased that we’ve kept you in captivity for so long. If they’re afraid of you becoming part of a zoo they needn’t worry,” Sven trailed off, mostly for his own amusement, “Theo prefers higher orders of the animal kingdom. Humans don’t rate.”

“Excuses me, Mister Sven.”

“Yes?”

The soldier lifted his hand – pointing. “There is, I thinks,  a mouse in your pocket.”

“What?” Sven tapped his breast pocket gently to find a warm, shuffling animal snuffling about beneath the threadbare material. “Oh… _Blast!_ No – it’s not for you...” He was forced to add, when Thunder showed an interest.

* ~*~*

“You have to give that one back, Mister Sven...” Spiros rolled his car up to the rockery along Sven’s paddock. The goats were out, picking their way through the long grass while the Greek soldier was wielding a pick, stabbing away at the ground with his shirt tied around his waist and a thick sweat suggesting he’d been put to work some time ago.

Louisa leaned over, child in her arms, to offer a wave. “Sven… I hope you didn’t order that one out of a magazine.”

Sven wiped his forehead with his arm if only to hide a blush. “This thing you say, I do not understand.” He lied.

Louisa winked and flashed a smile.

“Need me to take him off your hands?”

“All good, Spiros. They’re ah – sending a car for him – I think. That’s what they said. Yesterday.”

“You shouldn’t tease him like that,” Louisa nudged Spiros’ shoulder lightly as they drove off. “I don’t blame him making use of the free labour. Probably the first full day of hard work that man has done in his life.”

“He might have a house guest for a while,” Spiros replied. “All the cars are in town at the moment. Everything is very busy. Like ah, ants – before rain. Swarming.”

“Strange,” Louisa pressed herself back into the warm leather. There was something very soft and affectionate about Spiros’ taxi. She found that its detail lived in her senses, even the faint scent of the leather polish he used to stop it cracking in the sun. “I don’t feel like that at all.” She tilted her head backwards, letting the wind kick over her face. “This is _peaceful_. What – what was that thing you needed to tell me?”

“The – oh that...” Spiros tightened his hands against the steering wheel. He’d really been hoping that Louisa had forgotten about that almost-confession he’d made earlier over coffee. Why did he have to be the one to break the news? Well, he knew exactly why but that didn’t make the task any easier. “It is about Larry and ah – Crete...”

*~*~*

Larry stared at his typewriter. He had grown to hate it in the prevailing months. Every time he went to pen his thoughts he had to remind himself of the consequences. The very real possibility that he’d end up on a list. There were lots of lists… Lists of those individuals that had drawn the eye of censorship machines. Lists where name after name slipped off the edge of the world into silence… It bred an odd stillness in his fingertips. While a storm of ill-advised opinion churned inside his head his fingers hesitated on the keys. He could not help but wonder what would happen if those thoughts made it to the ears of the Fuehrer…

The threat had never stopped him before but things were different now. His child was fussing in the room next door while Theo argued with Nancy about how many trunks they were going to be allowed to take to Crete. Bless her, she did not seem to truly understand the nature of _war_ and was locked in battle about how many dresses she’d need for the island.

“You have been lingering in the shadows of my room for a long time, is there something I can help you with?” Larry finally asked. “Or are you hiding?”

Mary kept her silence for a while longer. “Why would I hide from my husband?”

Intrigued, Larry swivelled around in his chair – ignoring the fact that the action nearly broke off two of its legs. He recovered as gracefully as possible, steadying himself with one hand on the table next to his typewriter. “Why indeed...”

“Don’t play at being Sherlock Holmes...” Mary cautioned him. “It is the talk of Crete I hide from, not my husband generally.”

“It is not too late for you to come with us. Nancy is...”

“Forgive me but it is hard enough to let Theo serve in the army again, let alone watch him do so. I am not as strong as Nancy.”

“We’ll be _fine_ ,” Larry insisted. “Safest place this end of the _Adriatic Sea_.”

“Larry, I understand that Nancy doesn’t take an interest in the political turbulence of the world around her but I am the granddaughter of the British Consul in Corfu who saw out the first World War. This, I think your friends who write you so cautiously will soon agree, is the second...”

Larry was stuck quite dumb. “I did not know...”

“You never showed a particular interest in me, any more than one of Theodore’s odd looking lizards or poisonous snakes.”

“That is not _entirely_ true. I mean, you certainly warrant more interest than a reptile.” But there was something about her accusation that stung. She wasn’t the first to highlight his lack of observation – a true insult to a writer. They were meant to see the fine detail of people’s lives but Larry struggled with the world. So often it failed to hold his attention long enough for him to notice it brushing by at a hundred miles an hour. “I should probably apologise for that. My mother is trying, mostly in vain, to instil a few manners in me.”

“No need to waste your time. You are a lost cause.”

“Ah. Well – good to know...” He tapped his fingers on the barren wood. Although Theo’s Whitehouse wasn’t actively crumbling into the water like the villa, it retained a proper sense of poverty. “So...” Larry eyed his guest, not quite sure what to do with her. “Are you happy to hide in peace while I – you know – play at being a writer?”

Mary shrugged.


End file.
